


beelzebub has a devil put aside for me

by unbreakable_groundriot



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale is Ezra, Background Ineffable Bureaucracy, Background Maggot Husbands, Body Horror, Demon Aziraphale (Good Omens), Established Relationship, Fallen Angel Aziraphale (Good Omens), Fallen Angels, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Mentions of: blood/violence/suicide/mental illness/etc, Not Britpicked, unhealthy relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-22
Updated: 2019-08-02
Packaged: 2020-07-10 14:08:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 36
Words: 49,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19906960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unbreakable_groundriot/pseuds/unbreakable_groundriot
Summary: He does not saunter vaguely downward so much as he plummets in a barely controlled spiral.He had felt it coming. Her Grace was slowly pulled from his body as if She was unraveling a loose string on an expensive sweater. He felt hot and cold all at the same time. There's a sudden stench of brimstone and butyric acid. The ground beneath him starts to grow hot. It's coming."Crowley, love, I need you in here." His voice does not waver.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic uses [Glitch Text/G̶͚̔͊l̶̲͊i̴̠͚̕t̶̥̕c̴͙̆̈́ͅh̸͔̯͒̈́ ̷̨̛T̷͎͉̓e̶͇̪͝x̴̧͔͊̒t̸̬̆͛.](https://lingojam.com/GlitchTextGenerator) I use Google Chrome and try to ensure it doesn't clash with text it isn't supposed to. If for some reason your browser is showing it as completely illegible please let me know and I will see what I can do. You can use the linked website to unscramble the text if you need to.  
> I don't have a beta. Feel free to politely inform me of mistakes you find.  
> I also enjoy every single comment no matter how small. I try to reply to them all. You can find me on [Tumblr](https://unbreakable-groundriot.tumblr.com/).

He does not saunter vaguely downward so much as he plummets in a barely controlled spiral.

He feels it coming. Her Grace is slowly pulled from his body as if She is tugging a loose string on an expensive sweater. He feels hot and cold all at the same time. There's a sudden stench of brimstone and butyric acid. The ground beneath him starts to grow hot. It's coming.

"Crowley, love, I need you in here." His voice does not waver.

His demon is already rushing into the bathroom. The Angel of the Eastern Gate stares at himself in the mirror. The angel-winged ring he wears is burns hot and starts to warp but he can't move to take it off. His hands grip the porcelain sink so tightly it starts to crack. He looks at the stricken demon through the mirror and smiles weakly. "I think... I think I'm Falling, my dear."  
"Shit. Shit shit shit!" Crowley is at his side in seconds. He grips the angel's hands and manages to pry them away from the sink. He doesn't let go even as the gold rings drips molten metal onto his hand. "Ten years! Ten fucking years and they decide this is it?" He snarls all fangs and vitriol and guilt.

The ground under them illuminates with an infernal flame. Hellfire. Aziraphale gasps. His nails dig into the skin of Crowley's hands with enough force to tear his skin.  
"It's going to hurt, angel, but you have to be strong. Do you hear me? You have to be strong. You have to remember! Aziraphale!" His voice is rightfully panicked. "Who am I?"  
The angel's corporeal form is slowly burning. His unneeded breaths become harder and harder as his skin blackens. His lungs are burning "Crowley."  
"And what are we?" He begs.  
"Lov... Lo..." He pants. His form is nearly gone. "Love." He finally chokes out. His eyes are still big and blue.

"That's right. We're in love." Crowley grips his hands hard. The skin crackles and starts to melt away. His slacks and baby blue jumper burn like kindling. The room smells like burning flesh and burning hair. The flames do not so much as singe Crowley's very expensive mimicked Balenciaga jacket. "I'll be with you. I swear. I love you, angel, do you understand me? I need you to remember."

The flames finally properly discorporate the angel and he plummets through the ethereal, swirling black hole created on the floor of the bookshop bathroom. Crowley follows with his night-black wings spread wide. Aziraphale cannot scream. The humans would see two shooting stars fly across the sky. Aziraphale can only see flames. His own wings try to spread as he tries to slow his fall, but the lily-white feathers with their streaks of silver crackle and burn. The pain is ineffable. He feels strong arms wrap around him. The descent slows from freefall to a rapid spiral. A few black feathers rip from the demon's wings from the force of it. He thinks he might hear sobs but he doesn't know who they belong to. He feels the flames lick at his eyes and his vision starts to blur.

Slamming into the sulfur pool rips the last of Her Grace from his body. His mouth and lungs fill with liquid sulfur. Is this what drowning feels like? Somewhere, beyond the pain, he feels himself being pulled up by strong arms. He still can't see. Why can't he see?

  
"Ả̴̢̛̫̠͚̅z̵̡̜͇̬̫̏̃̚ǐ̷̡̨̺͕̦̦̍r̴͙͓̜̫̖̍̓̎a̶̬͎͙͍͠p̸̢̦̓̅̿̓́h̵̡̜̣͙̗̩͗̿̈́̈́̽a̵̝̩̖̲̓͌̕l̸̲̻̭͕͍͆ě̴͎̮̎͂͝͝!"

He's laid on his stomach onto too hot ground and his head is tilted so he can vomit up the sulfur he's swallowed. What is that noise? A familiar voice. "Fuck...Shit shit shit...! Ả̴̢̛̫̠͚̅z̵̡̜͇̬̫̏̃̚ǐ̷̡̨̺͕̦̦̍r̴͙͓̜̫̖̍̓̎a̶̬͎͙͍͠p̸̢̦̓̅̿̓́h̵̡̜̣͙̗̩͗̿̈́̈́̽a̵̝̩̖̲̓͌̕l̸̲̻̭͕͍͆ě̴͎̮̎͂͝͝. You have to open your eyes. You have to wake up, angel." A firm hand is rubbing his back. The pain ebbs away as he vomits a final time and takes a gasping breath before his diaphragm goes still. This form doesn't need to breath.

When he opens his eyes he sees everything all at once. He thinks there might be two tiny blind spots but it’s all so much to take in at once. The Creature that helps him sit up makes his head spin.  
"Ả̴̢̛̫̠͚̅z̵̡̜͇̬̫̏̃̚ǐ̷̡̨̺͕̦̦̍r̴͙͓̜̫̖̍̓̎a̶̬͎͙͍͠p̸̢̦̓̅̿̓́h̵̡̜̣͙̗̩͗̿̈́̈́̽a̵̝̩̖̲̓͌̕l̸̲̻̭͕͍͆ě̴͎̮̎͂͝͝? Can you hear me?" The Creature has the loveliest yellow eyes. "That's it. Show me a smile, hm? Can you speak?"

His head lolls to the side as he tries to focus his vision. The room is lit by glowing pools of unknown chemicals and compounds. The walls are dull grey and there are signs he can't quite read. One he recognizes as having a "No Swimming" symbol. A very bored looking demon sits at a desk with a very outdated computer. She doesn't even spare them a glance as she fills in a crossword puzzle. He lolls his head to the Creature holding him up. He blinks slow and smiles lazily as his vision starts to find its focus.

"Ả̴̢̛̫̠͚̅z̵̡̜͇̬̫̏̃̚ǐ̷̡̨̺͕̦̦̍r̴͙͓̜̫̖̍̓̎a̶̬͎͙͍͠p̸̢̦̓̅̿̓́h̵̡̜̣͙̗̩͗̿̈́̈́̽a̵̝̩̖̲̓͌̕l̸̲̻̭͕͍͆ě̴͎̮̎͂͝͝?  
"Why do you keep saying that?" He finds his voice and tears in the yellow-eyed Creature's eyes.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for the love of beelzebub come and talk to me about this on tumblr: unbreakable-groundriot.tumblr.com

The Creature lets out a broken sob. He finds himself pulled into the it’s arms. Black wings wrap around them. There's some unknown sense of comfort in the action. "This was never supposed to happen to you." The Creature chokes. "You're too good for this. You can't...Ả̴̢̛̫̠͚̅z̵̡̜͇̬̫̏̀̃̚ǐ̷̡̨̺͕̦̦̍r̴͙͓̜̫̖̍̓̎̀à̶̬͎͙͍̀͠p̸̢̦̓̅̿̓́h̵̡̜̣͙̗̩͗̿̈́̈́̽a̵̝̩̖̲̓͌̕l̸̲̻̭͕͍͆ě̴͎̮̎͂͝͝ you can't Fall."

The bored demon looks up from her crossword. She's covered in patches that look like tar and occasionally drip and disappear. "The paperwork went through Tuesday. Been in processing for ages now. You know how it is. That one needs to fill out his forms." She doesn't seem to care that she's breaking up an intimate moment. "You lot know a five-letter word for Oscar Wilde?"

"Fuck you!" The yellow-eyed Creature snarls. She rolls her eyes and returns to her crossword.

The Creature strokes his hands through his hair. He's not quite sure what he is or what he's called. There's something garbled in his brain that matches what the Creature keeps saying, but he can't bring himself to repeat it. The very thought causes his throat to spasm.

"Ả̴̢̛̫̠͚̅z̵̡̜͇̬̫̏̀̃̚ǐ̷̡̨̺͕̦̦̍r̴͙͓̜̫̖̍̓̎̀à̶̬͎͙͍̀͠p̸̢̦̓̅̿̓́h̵̡̜̣͙̗̩͗̿̈́̈́̽a̵̝̩̖̲̓͌̕l̸̲̻̭͕͍͆ě̴͎̮̎͂͝͝..."  
"I don't understand you." He repeats slowly. He blinks and finds he has two sets of eyelids. One pair blinks quickly vertically before the horizontal set blinks at the proper speed. He reaches up and strokes the funny little snake on the side of the Creature's face. "I know you, don't I?" He smiles lazily as he snuggles into the still crying Creature's arms. "Do I have a name?"

The desk demon snorts. "There's an approved list!" She calls. The Creature snarls at her again. "Ezra." He sets his hand over the hand still stroking his tattoo. "Your name is Ezra now. Can you say my name?"

"Ezra. I like that. Don’t know yours. I am certain it’s lovely.” He shakes his head a little and the Creature's eyes fill with fresh tears. Ezra, he finds he likes the name, slowly stretches his wings. His smile is still dopy as he reaches for them. "Oh... What a lovely color." He strokes one of the long, charcoal feathers. He finds threads of obsidian and delights in the sight. The Creature holding him buries his face into Ezra's shoulder and cries.


	3. Chapter 3

Ezra finds his feet soon enough. Things are still somewhat blurry and he's still unsure of exactly what is going on. He feels a crushing, overwhelming sadness inside his chest but he can't place the source. He inspects himself in a grimy mirror as the yellow-eyed Creature fills out some complicated looking paperwork at the desk demon's desk. He had stopped crying after some time but Ezra noted he was shaking almost violently. The Creature had draped him in his jacket but it did little to cover his nudity.

He tips his head and pouts at the mirror. He finds himself quite pale with no obvious blemishes marring his skin. His hair is slowly drying from his swim. It's white-blonde and starting to curl. He touches his eyebrows and pouts with pink lips. They were darker? Was that normal? He looks closer at his nails and finds them black. His left ring finger sports a burn scar. Curious. He leans in to inspect his eyes. They're a mix of blues and he finds each eye has two pupils. It’s as if his eyes were bacteria stopped mid-division or, he would think later, his eyes are like a supernova mid-explosion. He doesn't remember ever seeing himself but he's delighted to have odd eyes like the Creature. He was quite the handsome thing, or so Ezra thought. He couldn't quite remember knowing anyone else. The desk demon had a pretty face but her attitude was offputting. 

"I need you to sign this,Ą̴̧̞͎̘͆̈́͗͂͂̽̓̈͘z̴̝͉͔̰̩̈́i̴̗̖͇̲̰͉̭̩̠̟͐̃̀̃́̈̒̓̂̍͠͝͠ŗ̴͇̦̲͓͇̬̝̼̹̹̹̫͚́̿̎͛͊͆͝ͅa̶̢̧̭͋͊͑̐̍̽͗̈́͊́͋p̵̛̩͔̭̾̑͒̆̀͑́̋͘͘͜h̶̫͇̦͋̾̌̊͋͋͘͝a̴̢̞͎̰̹̺̬̪͓͛ͅĺ̸͉̯̰̼̽̃̒̒̔̅͂̂͛̕͜͜͝ę̶̪̝̩͓͔̱̪̣͔̝̐̓̈́̈́̎̀̀͒͆͜͝͝ͅ.“ The Creature calls him over gently. He's stowed his wings away and had directed Ezra to do the same. He closes his eyes briefly and heaves a great sigh. "Ezra. Come and sign this."

Ezra walks over with a bit of a stumble. He's gotten used to seeing so widely, but his depth perception is a bit off the farther he looks away. "My toenails are black." He declares as the Creature catches his arm.  "So they are." He murmurs. He steadies Ezra carefully and tries to make the jacket cover more of his body. The other being is quite tall and thin. Ezra finds his body shorter and softer. The jacket would never fit. 

Ezra tries to read the paperwork but only furrows his brows. None of the words make sense. He knows it's supposed to make sense. He shakes his head and tries again. "I can't... I can't understand it." He looks up to the Creature. He feels a flash of pain rolls off of him. He licks his lips.

"That's alright. I'll do it for you." His smile is strained. He sets a long-fingered hand on the back of Ezra's neck and gently strokes the curls there. It feels d̸̗̑i̶̬̋v̴̲̄î̴͚n̴̼̏e̴̪̊.

"Your name is Ezra. You are a Principality of Hell. Your domain is the UK." He points to garbled words on the slightly singed form. 

Ezra smiles dopily. "We have the same nails."

The Creatures smile shakes. "And you're still coming down, hm?" The hand on his neck keeps moving. "You...You Fell ten years ago. Well, the paperwork was put through ten years ago. Your crime is... Your crime is Pride of the highest offense. They’re going to give you a room here. I already put in the form to get you a new body.”

Ezra sees more words on the paper but the Creature doesn’t read them. He taps several places. “I need you to sign this. You... Light your finger and sign. It’s how it’s done here.”

Ezra cocks his head and obeys. He gives a delighted gasp at the sparks that dance at the tip of his finger. He dutifully signs using a sigil that comes naturally to him. The desk demon looks over the paperwork with a sigh. “Right right. Lord Beelzebub will be wanting a meeting.” She looks over Ezra’s nude form. “And this one will need clothes. You want something from the closet?”

The Creature shakes his head rather curtly. “Tell them we’ll be there soon. He’s still coming off of the high.” He snaps his fingers and Ezra finds himself fully clothed.  He glances down at himself and finds himself in a horribly drab beige outfit of trousers, a button-down, and a waistcoat. This won’t do at all. He tugs the Creature’s sleeve once he’s put his jacket back on. His mouth forms into a muscle memory pout and his eyebrows lift. “I don’t like this. It's too light.”

The Creature closes his eyes briefly. He does that a lot. He snaps and the outfit shifts to pitch black. He navy blue bow tie curls around his neck and ties itself perfectly. He smiles wide at the Creature. “I like this.”

“Come on then. Need to get you up to speed.” The Creature grabs for his hand. He hesitates for.. One. Two. Three. Ezra smiles and takes his hand. The Creature wears a lovely gold ring on his left hand. “Little wings!” He strokes his finger over it. The Creature trembles. “Little wings, yeah. Astute observation.” He snaps and a pair of dark sunglasses cover his yellow eyes. “Time to leave the garden.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale's appearance is based on this [amazing art.](https://speremint.tumblr.com/post/186401300745/only-one-1-person-asked-me-my-opinions-on-a-role) Remember to come and talk to me on [Tumblr](https://unbreakable-groundriot.tumblr.com)!


	4. Chapter 4

The screaming comes some hours later once they’ve found the dingy, molding room Ezra has been assigned.

He stares and stares at himself in the mirror as the Creature sits on the molded bed and watches him. Crowley. That’s his name. Ezra had smiled all soft cheeks and wide and asked and the Creature had kept his head steadfastly facing forward. Crowley.

All of a sudden the realization his him harder than he had hit the sulfur pool. In a fit of rage, the blonde demon smashes the mirror. He finds himself crouched down with his head between his knees. He claws at his hair and screams.

“It’s alright.”

Crowley. He’s there in seconds with soft touches. He pries his hands from his hair and redirects them to cling to his lapels. He whispers gentle nothings into his ears as if he’s done this a thousand times.  
“You’re okay. I know you’re afraid but you’re okay. I’m here for you. I’ll always be here for you. That’s it. Let it out.”

Ezra screams and sobs against the demon holding him close. “She’s gone! I can’t feel Her anymore! Fuck!” The swear feels almost foreign on his lips. It feels good even. “Fuck! Fuck fuck... What did I do? What did I do?”

Crowley kisses the crown of his head. He hums a low tune. It sounds familiar like he’s heard it a thousand times over. He gives no answer and just holds the newly Fallen Angel until the screaming stops and the tears slow. He rocks him slow and sings. He whispers out lyrics that Ezra can’t quite understand. "l̶͈̊ơ̴̰̳͉v̵̩̤͐ę̶̩̫̾͘ ̵̬̑̏̌o̷̧̧̫͐f̴͎̈̑ ̴̘̫͂̂͋m̶͕̜̃ỹ̸̦̺̔͘ ̸͙̀͛͘l̷̡͈̒͋͆i̷̧͆̃̈́f̴̖̰̗̊e̸̗͘͠,̶͇̰͐ ̸̻͚̅d̴̳͒̾̕o̵̠̪̿̅̈́n̸̨̜̒͑͜͝'̷̘̗̫͋͗͗ẗ̶̼̳́ ̶̙́͗l̴̹͕̲̏͒e̶̻̰̜̓̓͌ḁ̸̱͒͒v̷͓̉͋ę̴͈͉̈́͌ ̵̧̲̈m̶̯͐e̵͂͑̚." The sound pulls him into a state of calm that feels somehow familiar. "ȋ̶̯͆͌ ̴̳̰̟̗̈̏s̸͔̣̻̙͌̇t̵̲͍̪̲͝i̴͇̭̖͘͝l̶̮̹̐̓ļ̵̢͚̓̈ ̷̯͖̈̑l̶̫͝ͅo̸̯̼̊̈́̐v̷͗͛ͅĕ̶̬̑̊͜͝ ̵̹̤̲͍̃͛͌̓y̵̨͔̣͊͒̔o̴̞̗̺̬̓̀̕u̷̡̗̮̦͑̐"

“I didn’t mean to Fall.” He speaks barely above a whisper. His cheek is pressed against the soft, black fabric of Crowley’s shirt. He smells like some cologne he doesn’t know the name of because he can’t... fucking... remember! A snarl rips through him. “I didn’t mean to Fall! It’s not fucking fair! I didn’t do anything wrong! I know I didn’t do anything wrong! I hate Her!” His new black nails dig, dig into Crowley’s shirt and then the meat of his chest. He smells blood and feels the ripple of his wings as they start to manifest.

Crowley presses his hands over the wingspots and applies pressure. “Don’t do that. There’s not enough space. You’re going to hurt yourself.” If he’s in pain his voice doesn’t betray it. Slowly, slowly Ezra’s nails fall from the demon’s chest. He limply grips his jacket and he leans all of his weight onto the thinner demon. He finds a hand stroking his hair and one running along his back. The demon noses into the soft, white curls and presses a press to the crown of his head.

“I hate Her.” Ezra feels hot, black blood smear his cheek. The bleeding will stop and the wounds will heal but for now the smell is almost a comfort. “I hate Her so much. She stole from me. I can feel it.”  
“It’s alright... Don’t think about it. It’ll make it worse.” Crowley. Crowley. Crowley. The kind, yellow-eyed Creature. He knows he should know him. He knows he should feel something stronger than the fondness that has come from his kindness. The fact brings more rage bubbling to his skin but he’s too tired to release it.  
“It’s all I can think about.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is longer and split. I use they/them for Beelzebub and he/him for Dagon. Beez gender is "fuck you" and Dagon is male in the book.

* * *

In time, and time doesn’t really matter when you’re an immortal creature, Crowley hoists them to their feet. His bloody chest is cleaned and his shirt repaired with a brush of his hand. He uses the same hand to clean the blood flaking and cracking on Ezra’s pale cheek. “S’like I’m your mum.” Maybe it was meant to be a joke. Neither can muster more than a weak smile.

Ezra finds his body does things on its own. Crowley walks like a creature who has not figured out how hips work. He’s long-limbed and tall and his gait is hard to follow. Ezra's body automatically takes the demon’s ringed hand. He falls in step with him as if he’s done it a thousand times. Crowley, and he might be seeing it wrong with his new eyes, trembles slightly at the tight hold on his hand.

Hell is hot and humid. Things leak and the walls are peeling and there's slime growing from the floor. There are signs on the walls he can’t understand but some of the ones with pictures catch his eye. “Is that... a no licking sign?”  
“Tried it once. Don’t see the appeal. Really you just get paint in your mouth. It’s lead-based. Probably not good for those of us with bodies.” That one does get a little, snorting laugh out of Ezra.

The demons of Hell are used to the tight corridors. They brush and bump against each other in a neverending shuffle from one far away room to another. There are too many doors and yet somehow not enough space. Crowley and Ezra are given a wide, wide berth. Many demons stare with wide eyes and hold up the foot traffic. Some try to hide or even cover their faces. Some simply step aside and pretend nothing is happening. “Are they afraid of you?” He can taste it on his tongue. It tastes like m̷̢̲͈̻̥͘ờ̵̘͇͔̹̈́̕͘e̴̻̜̖͒̒͝t̷̨͍͚͑̽̈͌͑͜ ̶̣̇e̶̢̖͍̬͗͂̓̉ͅt̵̫̀̓́͝ ̴̢̦̼̓̓͂ç̷͈̱̯͝h̵͓̅̓͂̈́á̸̺̃̈n̵̢̙̝̜͕̂̈́̆̎ḑ̴̥͍̝̿̌̀ͅo̷͉̱̿͠n̸̬̘̥̠̏͊́̀ ̸̬̟͑̊ç̶̲̯̘̍́̔́͘h̷̝̖̣̭̣̀́̈́͊a̵̦̥̾ṃ̵̥̰̋̎͑͜p̶͙͍̍̐̕ą̵̨̗̹̃g̷̲͔͊̒̊̿ń̸̞͊̒͛͘ĕ̵͔̓. He licks his lips.  
“Long story. Just let me know if they give you any trouble.” Crowley gives his hand a squeeze. A smaller demon with its head wrapped completely in what seems to be used toilet paper actually falls over itself in an effort to get out of their way and it gets stepped on before it manages to scramble up. Ezra hides a laugh behind his hand. Crowley’s mouth twitches as it had earlier in the pits. His sadness tastes dry and stale. Ezra leans against his arm a little and smiles up at the Creature. It just makes adds to the stale flavor in his mouth.

“Stay right here, okay?” Crowley presses Ezra to sit on a flimsy, very uncomfortable plastic chair outside of an office with a nameplate that’s hanging by one screw. He can’t read it but the title is extraordinarily long. He can count nine jumbled masses that he thinks are words. “Ezra? Are you listening?” His tone is firm. He arranges Ezra’s hands in his lap and fusses over his hair. It’s an excuse to touch him but Ezra doesn’t point it out. “I need to talk to them first to find out what’s going on. Stay here. Don’t go with anyone. Don’t talk to anyone.”  
Ezra smiles and nods. “Don’t move. Don’t talk.”

Crowley enters the office. The door shuts. The nameplate hits the ground at the same time he hears a massive crash from inside.

* * *

  
“Bastards! All of you!” Crowley slams his hand on the cluttered desk before him and pushes. A barely working lamp flies and smashes. The outdated computer ends up on the ground and a rather neat desk organizer sends its various office accouterment all over the room. Paperwork flies off of the desk only to pause, hover, and settle back into place. That’ll be Dagon’s doing the grinning bastard.

“Crowley, how nice to see you.”

Beelzebub sprawls in their desk chair. There’s something almost regretful in their usually impassive face. The giant fly on their head buzzes and wiggles. “It took you long enough. Where izzz the new recruit?”  
Crowley digs his fingers into the wood. “Don’t call him that. Don’t fucking call him that!”  
“You know in these politically correct times we can’t call him freshly Fallen anymore.” Dagon chimes in. He’s holding a stained manilla folder against his chest.  
“Shut up!” He can’t be sure that they still believe the trick from a decade ago but Dagon flinches and at least he gets some pleasure from that. “You couldn’t have sent a note, huh? You think I wouldn’t come down here with him?” He pushes the paperwork away again just to make himself feel better. He takes one, two, and three paces away from the desk of his former employer. He runs a hand roughly through his hair and paces with teeth bared.

“We sent a letter about the paperwork ten yearzzz ago.” Beelzebub holds out their hand and Dagon, Lord of the Files, hands them a copy.

“Principality Aziraphale,  
This letter is an official notice of the filing of form F4113N against your name. If you are found eligible for a Fall from Grace you will receive notice within the next seven to ten business years. If you are found ineligible please expect a letter from your employer.  
Unkind regards, Office of Demon Resources”

They wave the letter at Crowley. He snatches it up and reads it over a dozen times. It’s on the official letterhead of DR and the date looks right. It even smells like it was copied ten years ago. “I never... He never showed me this.” He drops the paper and it floats along back to Dagon.

He rubs his eyes roughly by pushing his hands up under his glasses. “He can’t remember anything.”  
“You know we don’t control memoriezzz.” Beelzebub buzzes. “That’zzz up to him. I don’t know what you want from me. Paperwork was filed ten years ago by,” They glance down briefly and then close the folder, “the Archangel Michael.” Dagon wiggles the thick folder at him. “He was found to have committed at least ten thousand acts of Pride. We stop counting after that. There’s also eight thousand, two hundred and twenty-two acts of Gluttony, and four thousand nine hundred acts of Greed, three thousand six hundred and sixty-six acts of Sloth.” They tap the page. “Some minor acts of Wrath and Envy. Heaven wouldn’t even notice those. No acts of Lust. We thought we had one but we cleared it up with Ozzzcar Wilde. They were just friendzzz.” They look up to Crowley with their chin resting on their hand. “Pride is a weird one for an angel. They’re all pompouzzz prickzzz but the actual sin of it?” They smile and a fly lands on their teeth.

Crowley shakes at every word. His angel... His angel wasn’t like that. “He’s never been Prideful. Where are you getting those numbers?”

Dagon drops the folder onto the desk and opens it to a random page. At the top of the page is the title: “Greed #2,273.” A sloppily printed photo shows Aziraphale standing wide-eyed with a string of books in hand. Around him, a church burns and Crowley can be seen half cut off from the shoddy camera work. “Expressed no remorse at the loss of human life or loss of sanctified ground. Expressed happiness over blasphemous material objects.”

Dagon tuts. "Oops. Wrong section." He flashes his pointed teeth and flips through the pages. The folder shouldn't be able to neatly hold them all but it manages through spite.

"Here we are. This one is my favorite." He flips the folder around.

"Pride #10,000." Crowly swallows. They had stopped counting after that. Demon and former angel as shown laying in bed. Crowley is asleep if his open mouth, relaxed expression has anything to say about it. Aziraphale seems to be playing with the ring he wears on his left hand. "Expressed feelings of superiority over angels and demons. Expressed feelings of ownership over another entity." He feels leftover liquid sulfur bubble up from his stomach but manages to push it down. "Expressed feeling love for another entity greater than his love of Ğ̴̣͈̗̚͘͝ṏ̸̪́́d̵̫̯̘́."

Dagon closes the folder smugly. "You're in here quite a lot, Crowley." His fish scales shimmer as the lamp finds itself back onto the desk. "Your angel was a right bastard. You should see the list of temptations. It has an index. We learned a lot though! Turns out angel spit isn't as dangerous as holy water and fucking them isn't actually against the rules. They can be so delicious when they scream." He grins with all of his sharp teeth.

Crowley lunges with a snarl. Beelzebub waves their hand and his face is covered in flies. "Fuck!" He growls and swats them away back to their master.

"Look, Crowley, we don't want you here anymore than you want to be here." They sit back in their chair and it groans as if it might break. "And that new one izzz dangerouzzz. He survived Hellfire azzz an angel. We don't know what he'zzz capable of now." Crowley at least finds some comfort in the continued ignorance of their ruse. "I gave him your old title and I'm rushing the body formzzz. Thingzzz are different now. Something is coming. Heaven and Hell have been...cooperating more recently. We'll send you both back up there. You earn your pension and he doezzz a few temptationzzz every once in a while to earn hizzz pay. We leave you alone and you leave uzzz alone. Eazzzy."

"Fine. Fucking fine." Crowley croaks out. He has to steady himself on one of the plastic chairs in front of the desk. "I want to talk to Upstairs."

"They won't take your call, Crowley."  
"The Morning Star then."  
"I have a direct line. He hazzzn't answered hizzz phone since the stunt you pulled. He wouldn't want to hear from you anyway."  
"There has to be someone who can fix this." His voice breaks and he lowers himself to begging. "Lord Beelzebub, please you have to—"  
The Lord of the Flies raises their hand to silence him. "Rising izzz a myth. He izzz one of us now. The paperwork went through. That meanzzz Upstairzzz signed it. Angelzzz can't Fall without the Biggest Boss' signature." They stand and adjust the fly on their head. "If you want to know about memoriezzz see Hastur. Now get out and send him in." They jerk their head toward the door. The giant fly has the nerve to point with one skinny leg.

It takes him several long beats to collect himself before he gives a curt nod. Ezra smiles up at him from where he sits straight-backed in the plastic chair where he'd left him. "They want to talk to you. I need to see someone. When they're done with you I want you to stay here. Don't go anywhere." He slowly reaches out and brushes wild curls from Ezra's forehead.  
"Stay here." Ezra repeats. He gives a little wiggle and pats his thighs before standing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Crowley is singing Love of My Life by Queen ([live](https://youtu.be/sUJkCXE4sAA)/[studio](https://youtu.be/T73WhWTawCE)) to him


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hastur is one of my favs. He just oozes dumbass energy. Also, he needs a b a t h

Angels were the ones who made up the lie that demons lost their memories when they Fell. _You don't want to forget your friends, right? Be a good angel. Don't ask too many questions._

When an angel Falls there is a period of intense pain as their heavenly essence fully burned away. Some are disoriented when they rise from the pool. Some are fully aware of what has happened. It is thought that memories were a choice. Some Fallen choose to forget themselves and become something new. Some choose to remember and simmer in their rage. The only truth in the lie the angels told was that a demon could never speak or hear their Given name again. After a while, most of them forget it anyway. Their names become an annoying buzz in the back of their skulls. Crowley had chosen to remember as much as possible. His name was lost to him. He'd been dubbed Crawly by a cackling, half-delirious Beelzebub when they had first seen him slowly morph from humanoid demon to serpent and back again. It had been hard to control his body right after Landing.

When the Rebels had been cast down it had been quite the literal fall. The ground opened up with hundreds of swirling black holes. Many Rebels dropped right through. Some tried to fly away but the holes sucked them down. Some tried to run and tripped into the holes, not that he knew anything about that. He was sure some of the loyal angels had accidentally Fallen in the clamor.

Hastur and Ligur had been angels once, obviously. Hastur had been boyishly handsome with a shy smile and pale, pale skin. He would hold Ligur's sleeve hem and hide. He could be tricked into almost anything if you took the right tone. Ligur's eyes had always changed color when he spoke. His skin was dark and his hair shifted shades with his eyes. He was the bolder of the two and was always snooping around. He was the one you went to when you wanted the best gossip. He was not the one everyone feared.

They had not been friends. Crowley had never liked idle gossip and something about Ligur struck him the wrong way. Hastur's wide-eyed stare made him shiver. When the ground opened up, he remembered watching the angels press their foreheads together. Hastur had been the one to link their hands and step back into one of the black holes and they were gone. Hastur was touched by madness when they Fell. He had ripped apart a fellow demon and devoured her as soon as she'd climbed out of the pool. He would have destroyed another if he hadn't been forced back into the sulfur by a dozen hands. He lost his boyish beauty and his shyness. Hastur kept his colors and his wits. The chameleon that spawned on his head was actually quite charming if you fed it a few flies. He gained a ruthlessness that drove them both through the ranks. Crowley wasn't sure what they remembered. It wasn't polite to ask.

* * *

Crowley had been known in Hell. He held the same title as Aziraphale: Principality. He held dominion over the UK and sometimes popped over into other parts of Europe on assignment. Most demons knew him because he had been the one to tempt Eve. They didn't really care about the whole Earthly thwarting thing. They'd all heard about his Holy Water bath and his second rebellion. Some of the creatures he passed did not look afraid. Envy was a sin, you know.

He had never been granted an official residence in Hell because he was never there for very long. He could not say it was upsetting. The residential area of Hell was just as cramped as the rest of the place. Closet-sized rooms were stacked on top of each other. Doors were on weird angles and the rooms were sometimes tilted strangely. There were strange things growing in strange places. Some demons took residence on the ceiling or stuck themselves to walls. They didn't need to sleep but Sloth was a sin that was encouraged. Lust was also a sin and it stank up the place something even worse than the usual stench. Crowley grimaced as two gelatinous looking demons did something that was probably fornicating. They'd shamelessly left the door open... Not that shame was something demons felt very often. He flicks his hand and the door slams shut. He did not want to watch custard fuck.

The higher-ups reside lower down. Hell is one big basement with subbasements and one confusing door that leads to a small ramen shop Kawaminami, Japan. He takes two flights of stairs down and then has to pause at a forked hallway to sniff the air. He smells angel down the left hallway. Weird. He takes the right hallway and is pleased to find it far less congested and all the doors are closed. The demons here avoid him but they're Higher Ups. He's nothing but a very confusing bother.

He straightens his sunglasses and tugs at his jacket before knocking on one of those ragged, grey doors. He takes two steps back and two steps to the left.

"Hastur! Duke of Hell!" He turns on his heels and snaps his boots together. His tone is cheery and loud. Hastur looks practically feral, well more feral than usual. He'd barreled out of the door just as Crowley had predicted.   
"You!" Hastur turns to him and lunges again but forces himself to a stop halfway through the motion. He ends up in an awkward, Frankenstein's monster-like pose.

"Glad to have caught you alone! Do you have coffee?" Fucking with Hastur had always been an enjoyable past time. The madness that had seeped into him when he Fell had seemed to amplify the naivete his former angelic personality had portrayed. The demon stares as Crowley walks right past him and into the residence.

"Is that phycomyces blakesleeanus?" The room is not much larger than a cheap studio flat in a half-decent part of town where you might only get threatened instead of mugged. There's a filthy pile of what is probably a bed. He refuses to even think about what it might be made of. The room is littered with objects pilfered from Earth. There is definitely a lost Caravaggio hanging above the bed pile. On a half-broken dresser sits too many of those weird, black-eyed plastic figurines that had been popular years ago. There's a bathtub filled with fetid water. It drips onto the floor endlessly. On its surface floats what he thinks are intestines.

"Uh... Yeah." Hastur closes the door behind him. Crowley is inspecting a cat-shaped Chia pet that is growing a very hair mold instead of bright green chia sprouts. There are several around the room. He spots Blanche from The Golden Girls in the corner and almost pouts.  
"Ligur grows it. Don't see the point. Can't do nothing with it. Just sits on them things. He made it up there. Makes'em all itchy but don't kill them." There's some strange pride in his tone even if he looks more than annoyed. Crowley can never read his black, black eyes but they're half-lidded and he doesn't seem like he's going to go into a murderous rage at the moment.

"A minor annoyance. Good work I say. Love a good annoyance, me." Crowley grins wide and waggles his eyebrows.

"What uh...What...What're you doing here?" Hastur steps back slightly. His hand goes to his mouth as Crowley moves around the room. He bites down when the serpent shifts one of the figurines. It's a glittery, black-eyed Snow White. Crowley decides not to question the interior design choices.

"I need to talk to you about memories. Not here to hurt you, Duke Hastur. This is a social call. Doesn't that sound nice?" If Beelzebub and Dagon still believed he was Something Else, Crowley realizes, then no doubt Hastur still believes it too. The frog headed demon whimpers when Crowley steps closer. It's like he's just realized there's a monster in his room. Aziraphale would no doubt pout and give him a dirty look. He's not this kind of demon that uses fear to force another being. He's better than this.

Aziraphale isn't here. There is no dirty look. There is no pout.

Hastur nods slowly. He can't back away anymore. Some strange, high noise comes from his throat. Crowley almost pities him.

"A friend of mine can't quite remember some...details." He tips his head from side to side all wishy washy and vague. He can feel an invisible hand making a fist around his heart. He keeps the easy smile on his face. He's had six thousand years of practice ignoring heartbreak. He can make it through these inquiries. "Old Beelzy said you could help. Didn't elaborate much but you know how they are. You can help me, can't you, Duke Hastur?" He shoves his hands in his pockets and leans in close. He can see himself reflected in wet, black eyes. 

  
Hastur bites down harder and harder onto the flesh of his hand until blood wells up and spills onto his teeth. It drips down his fingers and onto the filthy floor. He bites down harder and Crowley slaps his hand away from his mouth. If it wasn't for the fear radiating off of the higher ranking demon he would have never dared. He was better than this.

Aziraphale isn't here. 

"Z̷̤͓̆̔͝ȧ̴̭̤̞͕̌v̸͇̝̳̬̇͝e̸̞͛̂͠ͅb̴̞͖̏͛ẻ̴̛̞͒͝! Answer me!"  
"What's elaborate?" The demon finally whimpers. Crowley closes his eyes behind his sunglasses. If he didn't know Hell better he would have never believed this had been his boss. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank Ancient Aliens for the random angel name. Zavebe is from the Book of Enoch which isn't really an accepted book of the Bible. It most likely means "purity of God." According to it, Crowley's name would have been Gadreel.


	7. Chapter 7

"Hastur, I need you to focus. You can focus, can't you?"  
The demon nods sharply. "I can focus."  
"Good." He leans back. They're nearly the same height but Hastur looks very small. "You have to focus or I will make things so much worse for you. I need you to tell me why Beelzebub would send me to you for help with memories."

Hastur's eyes flash. Is he looking around? It's hard to tell really. "I remember things."  
"We all remember things. That's sort of the idea behind brains."  
"From before. I used to not. Used to not want to think about it. I didn't want to. Then you killed Ligur." There used to be a gruffness to his voice. Now it's weak and scared. 

Crowley tilts his head to one side. "And now that's all better. We're over that bit. You remembered after you forgot? How? Tell me how!"  
Hastur whimpers. He's wearing a human body and it starts to breathe hard. "I just wanted to remember and so I did! I wanted more of Ligur before he came back! I kept thinking and thinking and it all came back. It hurt. It felt like Falling again." He tries to bite himself again and Crowley hits his hand harder.

"You just wanted it and it happened? You? The dumbest most useless demon on this plane?" He snarls. "You're a fucking idiot. You have no imagination!"  
"Don't call me an idiot." He whispers as he shrinks back. "He don't like when people call me that."

Aziraphale isn't here.

Crowley grips the cowering creature's face far harder than he needs. This power feels good. Hastur had always been an ass. He'd tried to kill him. He'd tried to kill Aziraphale. "Back before the Fall, I remember you. Never said anything. Never saw you make a choice. Ligur always did the talking. He dragged you along and wouldn't let anyone near you. Remember when he fucked you where we could all see? I thought it was sad. You cried when Uriel laid into you both. You Fell because of him." Hastur is bleeding from where he's bitten into his own tongue. "I come all the way down here and what do I get, eh? Nothing but stink on my clothes."

Aziraphale isn't here.

Crowley pushes his face away. He wipes his hand on his jeans with a disgusted sneer. "You wanted it so you got it. That's not how it works."  
"He says I'm different." Blood spills from his mouth and drips onto his dingy coat. "When he comes back he's going to—"  
The serpent lets out a broken laugh. It's the kind of laugh that might turn into a full-blown breakdown if he lets it. "Ligur is dead. I killed him. I poured Holy Water on him. He's still a stain on my floor. He never came back." Tears well up behind his sunglasses. "You're imagining it. Maybe it's the only thought you've ever had for yourself. Whatever it is you think is happening... It isn't real. You've always been so loyal. It's a shame really."

Hastur's eyes go wide. He's still bleeding from his hand and his mouth. The coat he wears is black and too short for his long body. The soft scarf around his neck soaks up the blood as he dribbles down. "That isn't true. Ligur is... Is in a meeting with head office."

Crowley feels a flash of pity in his gut. "Ligur is dead. He's in the Before. We don't come back from the Before."

The demon before him sinks down. "I hate you!" He wails as he rips gashes into the frog-like markings on his cheeks.

Crowley turns on his heel and leaves. The flimsy door does nothing to drown out the screams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made it my goal to reply to every comment. I require validation


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm 87% adjective tbh

A decade is barely a blink when you’ve been alive since before time was invented. Crowley thinks the last ten years of his uncountably long life have been the best years.

He had spent six thousand years pining over the Angel of the Eastern Gate. The angel who had smiled at every passing angel while he stood guard. The angel who had smiled at the demon who put him out of his job. Six thousand years was a long time but what was six thousand years when you had eternity?

He knew deep down that he was an absolute idiot for ever believing he could finally have what he wanted. Things don't just happen because you want them to.

For ten years they had known each other in the biblical sense after a gentle yet bold kiss bestowed upon the demon at the end of their ordeal. The streets of London had glittered like stars as light reflected off of puddles from an evening rain shower. As far as Crowley was concerned his life had finally, finally started.

They shared a home built around a bookshop that no one ever seemed to buy from. Aziraphale had shyly miracled rings on their fingers and they called each other husband. Crowley found a thousand excuses to plant soft kisses on Aziraphale’s cheeks and Aziraphale found a thousand excuses to hold his hand. They found pleasure in human things like Polaroids and magnets collected on holiday. Crowley learned to slow down and Aziraphale learned to speed up. They met in the middle and moved through the years in relative bliss.

They had their spats, as all lovers do. They’d been having said spats since the Garden. Aziraphale could be as sharp-tongued as any demon and Crowley knew exactly which thread to pull to send the angel into a fit of pique that could last days.

He’d pulled too hard once and found himself burning under the stare of a thousand eyes.

Aziraphale was tender and sweet with enough bastard sprinkled to give him a subtle sharpness on a good day and serrated teeth on a bad day. When they fought he used his words and his expressive face to cut and burn. He used his tears and warbling voice to metaphorically hold Crowley in place. He never hit or grabbed or threatened.

The Angel of the Eastern Gate had invented War by giving away his holy weapon. That angel was crafted with six wings littered with blue eyes. That angel had four heads that shifted and melded in a way that the human mind could not comprehend. It snarled in too many voices that shook the mind. That angel had been made to guard Eden. It was made for War.

"You're a poor excuse of an angel."

The incident had lasted only seconds. Crowley ended up with handprints seared into the skin of his shoulders where he’d been held down. It had taken two days for his eyes to shed snake-like and his skin had peeled like a bad sunburn. He’d spent those two days in a haze of blurred grey vision and pain soothed only by cool hands. Aziraphale had sobbed until his corporeal form had choked and gasped for breath. Even in his pain Crowley had held him. He had begged forgiveness with a voice burned by holy light. He never pulled on that thread again.

  
Crowley feels shame roil the sulfur still in his stomach. He hasn't had the chance to dispose of the intruding liquid after falling into the pit. He doesn’t plan to dispose of it any time soon. He knows he deserves the constant burn.

He takes no pleasure in hearing the slowly fading wails he’s caused. Aziraphale wasn’t here but he would be so disappointed. He keeps his head down as he takes the stairs back up to the office level of Hell. He had shed his tears for the moment. More would come later. For now, he needed to stay strong.

Aziraphale always took great pleasure in being able to lift the lanky demon as if he were as light as a china teacup. The angel was stronger than he looked and the demon was just as weightless as he looked. Their home always filled with laughter when the angel would toss the demon over his shoulder or lift him up like a prized bride. He had teased Crowley endlessly about his inability to stomp away angrily. The bookshop floor was too sturdy and Crowley was far too light. The jabs often pushed the demon into brooding on the sofa until soft hands pulled him close and played in his hair. He had never been angry in the first place. His angel always assured him that he loved every too-long bone in his human body. Then he could scoop him right up and start the whole ordeal all over again.

There’s a clamor coming from the corridor that houses the offices of the Hell DR bosses. Crowley nearly slides on a puddle of what might be piss in his haste to make it toward the sound. His boots barely make a sound.

It takes a quick snap to part the sea of demons crowded around the spot he’d left Ezra. He doesn't even use his magic. The creatures of Hell feared him. It makes him sick again despite the convenience.

“Oh for... Ă̵̰ẓ̷̣̒̾̓ͅi̸̭̠̇͆̒̚r̷͇͇̔̾̉̊ͅa̷̳͔̫̼̿́́p̵̖̹͖̞͊̚͝h̶̫̑͛̍͜a̸̲̝͒̋l̵̥̤͗̓̂e̴͎̤͔̠̍̋͂̅! Stop it! Ezra!”

Ezra has a demon made of sharp spines pinned beneath him. His four pupils are blown wide as he uses his perfectly manicured thumbs to press into the oozing eye sockets of the being below him. His teeth are bared in a bastardized version of a smile.

“Ezra!” Crowley can’t reach out to him. He feels the heaviness of The Angel of the Eastern Gate around him. His breathing picks up and his heart races. The weight is tainted. Beelzebub has said that Aziraphale only committed a few sins of Wrath in his lifetime as an angel. He finds himself grateful for that.

Ezra looks up and his smile turns soft and sweet and all too familiar. “Crowley! I was waiting for so long. Did you finish your errand?” He presses his fingers in deeper. The spines his victim sports press into his stomach and thighs and tear at his flesh. The demon howls in pain and tries desperately to pull the hands away from their eyes.

“Yeah. Finished. Nnk.” His mind blanks briefly before he blinks back to reality. “What happened? I told you to stay here and not talk to anyone. Let them go.” He thinks he deserves a commendation for not having a mental breakdown.

He turns to the demons gawking at the sight. “Go away! Out!” He growls. “I said fuck off and take that with you!”

Ezra removes his thumbs from his victim’s eye sockets. He stands and gives one good, hard kick to the poor sod's head. It would have killed any human. Demons are made of slightly tougher stuff and it only knocks the spined demon unconscious. It takes three harried demons to drags him away as they all scatter like cockroaches.

“I didn’t want to be rude. He spoke to me first.” Ezra takes no notice of his condition. His clothing is torn and punctured and bleeds black ichor down most of his front. Crowley is on him in two long-legged steps. His hands shake something awful as he heals the wounds and mends the cloth and cleans the blood. He’s got quite a lot of demonic magic saved up and his pension’s not bad. He feels that this is a better use of that savings than when he’s too lazy to get up and turn the kettle on.

“Rude? Rude is trying to gouge someone’s eyes out!”  
“Not for a demon.”  
“You aren’t a demon, Ă̵̰ẓ̷̣̒̾̓ͅi̸̭̠̇͆̒̚r̷͇͇̔̾̉̊ͅa̷̳͔̫̼̿́́p̵̖̹͖̞͊̚͝h̶̫̑͛̍͜a̸̲̝͒̋l̵̥̤͗̓̂e̴͎̤͔̠̍̋͂̅!”

Ezra’s brows furrow. He flinches away when Crowley tries to brush his hair away from his forehead. “I am a demon. A fallen angel. I’m a Principality Of Hell, in fact. I think it has a nice ring to it.” He lets out a huff and pointedly stares behind Crowley instead of up at him. His mouth pinches into a familiar moue.

“Yeah... Demon...” Crowley swallows it all down again. “It’s been a stressful day. Cut me some slack. Don’t pout.” He couldn’t kiss it away anymore. He couldn’t tickle that little spot at the back of his neck. He couldn’t bring him a cup of double bergamot earl grey with a splash of cream. He won't ever hear the angel huff and insist you should not put dairy in earl grey. He wouldn’t be invited to sit at his side as the angel drank with a little smile on his face.

“He insulted me. I was sitting after my meeting and they asked why I was with the, as he put it, angel fucker.” Ezra crosses his arms over his chest. “I couldn’t let them get away with that. First, I assumed they were talking about you. You’ve been very kind to me. Second, I couldn’t just let them speak to me like that. Some lowly paper pusher? No no.” He bares his teeth. They’re perfectly straight and white with the hit of sharpness in the canines inherent to all demons. “So I took their eyes. Maybe they’ll give them a new job scrubbing whatever it is that is coating this place.”

Crowley weighs his options as Ezra finishes speaking. He can stand there and nod in dumb horror and try to make conversation or he can vomit. “Well, don’t do it again. You don’t want that kind of attention down here no matter your rank. You don’t even know how to use your demonic magic yet, do you?” He scolds. He nudges Ezra back to his seat. He has a manilla folder on one of the chairs. It’s shockingly clean.

“Lord Beelzebub said you would help me. I... am afraid the paperwork is still difficult. There is a fact sheet but there are no pictures.”

This time he doesn’t flinch at the fingers in his hair. Crowley had begged Aziraphale to grow out his hair. The curls are wild and bouncy and stylishly messy after their dip in sulfur. “Need to talk to them real quick. Five minutes. Stay here.” Crowley grabs the door handle and pulls even though it’s a push door. It opens with ease and he closes it behind him. Beelzebub looks up from their paperwork just in time to witness the former Serpent of Eden vomiting all over their floor.

* * *

“That’zzz rude.” Beelzebub buzzes. The fly on their head hops down to investigate. Crowley had always found it disgusting when animal-headed demons’ animals left their heads. At least Lord Beelzebub still had hair. Demons like Hastur had nothing but maggots or raw flesh under their little pets.

“Oh, you know me. Always make a grand entrance, I say.” Crowley wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “Shame the pits can’t burn you twice. Now as I was saying, I spoke with Hastur and you’re going to need to send someone down there with a lot of muscle.”

The Lord of the Flies buzzes out a groan. “I sent you to talk to the poor sod! We had to take him off of active duty until he snapzzz out of this little fit. You’ve gone and made it worse, haven’t you?”  
“I got annoyed. He was useless.” The last word comes out as a hiss. He thought he’d broken that habit years ago.  
“Helped me. Thought it would help you.”  
Crowley almost takes a step forward but then remembers the vomit. “Helped you? Care to explain, Lord Beelzebub?”

The door flies open with a flick of their hand. “Can someone get in here with a mop?” 

* * *

Ezra takes Crowley’s hand when he steps out of the office. They fall in step together back toward the residence Ezra was to stay in until he got his new body. Lord Beelzebub assured him it was being rushed and would only take three to five business days. That really was light speed in Hell.

He settles onto the moldy bed with a sigh. He tugs the navy bow tie around his neck and lets it hang around his shoulders. His unbuttons his charcoal waistcoat and he flicks the top button of his shirt open. Crowley stands near the door. Ezra tastes the anxiety and it reminds him of c̶̨̛̘̺͍̚̚͝r̷͖̂e̷̯̬͔̊̀̌̋ṕ̵̬̼̏e̴̹̽s̵̹̓ͅ ̵͈̒̅́͝s̵̱̅͛̐̽u̷̲̱͌̈́͐z̶̗̲̞̑͗̀ͅē̵̻̉͠͠ẗ̴̯̝̥͖́̈́́t̷̨͚̣̄ę̸͓̄. “Come here.” He reaches out and Crowley is with him in seconds. The technically older demon is a mess of shaking hands and eyes so wide and so yellow that Ezra can see them through the dark glasses.

He stands and slowly helps Crowley remove his jacket. The tugs gently on a tuft of hair to get him to bend down a bit. He removes the sunglasses and they wind up tossed onto a small table that’s managing to hold itself up with only two legs. “There we are. Don’t look at me like that. It doesn’t fit your face. You’ve cried enough today. I’m tired of the sound.” He smiles all round cheeked and sweet. “Sit sit. Let’s relax for a while and then you can help me.”

Crowley is pliant and obedient. He sits on the bed and stares at nothing. He’s not crying and he’s gone so very still. He looks so relaxed! Ezra really is proud of himself. His first day as a demon has been far too much action but it’s been a success in his book. Well, if he had a book it would be a success.

He threads his fingers through Crowley’s limp ones and sets his cheek on one sharp shoulder. He smiles contently and closes his eyes to rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm actually having fun writing this. I know it's sort of wandering but I promise it's on purpose.
> 
> Check out the middle gif of [ this](https://whatisthepointofyouhardy.tumblr.com/post/186189631651/michael-sheen-solves-rbritishproblems) set. His hair is SO BOUNCY.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you ever make yourself sad?

"That demon called you an angel fucker. What does it mean?"

They sit together in a cramped corner of what is meant to be a library. The librarians have too many arms and they spend the day looking busy. The books are a collection of blasphemy carefully curated by Francis de Sales. He was known to the humans as the Patron Saint of Books but he'd really been a demon playing a long con. He spread foment through his writings. He passes by in silence on occasion. His body is covered in black writing that twists and swirls if you look at it for too long.

"Langauge." Crowley grunts. The profanity doesn't sound quite right in Ezra's still prime, proper, and flamboyant London accent. "Means what it sounds like. I retired to marry an angel."  
Ezra considers this carefully. "So you fuck an angel and nothing happens?"  
"Other way around usually, but yeah. Turns out it's not against the rules. They smell better than most of this lot." He waves his hand around vaguely.

He taps his nails on the table and watches Crowley sort through the paperwork he'd been given. He'd bitched about how he never got a welcome package when he started causing trouble. "Will I get to meet this angel? Were we friends?"

"Nah. He's uh... He's not around much. Sort of married to the job too. You never really knew him. Only me. Don't think he'd want to meet you." He sets the papers into stacks as he goes through them.  
"Shame I suppose. I'd like to meet the fellow that made you soft." He grins when expressive eyebrows raise to show the demon has rolled his eyes.

"Focus, Ezra. This is important." He spreads out one of the stacks. The words are all blurs or symbols he can't understand. Some of the pages have pictures but he thinks that that is Crowley's doing. He recognizes various sigils signed onto some of the official pages. Lord Beelzebub signs their Being in a series of swirls. Dagon's sigil glows murky teal. Crowley's sigil reminds him of the tattoo on his sideburn. Angels signed their paperwork using quills made of one of their own feathers. They signed their names in the ancient angelic language of Enochian and all of their last names were Eil. It seemed like a waste of ink to add the last bit, really. Aziraphale always used a pearlescent blue the same shade of his eyes to sign his name. Ezra found that the sigil that represented his Being had come naturally. When he'd sparked his finger for the first time he drew out a slightly sloppy triangle with a little tail at the end. Then he'd added ten small dots. The whole thing shimmered the same blue of his eyes. Crowley had whispered something that sounded like, "I helped make that one."

"This says you agree to the salary plan. T'same one I had so it's not bad. Y'get a cost of miracle raise every few hundred years which's nice." Ezra dutifully signs where Crowley points. He can't read the words but he can feel that Crowley isn't lying to him.

He signs again to agree not to fraternize with the enemy without proper paperwork. Then again that he will follow the dress code (absolutely no white ever). He signs his name at least thirty times.

He groans and stretches one arm out to pillow his blonde head onto it. Crowley grabs his dominant hand and makes him sign again. "They're making things up now. Agree to disagree about Richard Rodgers and Stephen Sondheim? What does that even mean?"  
"Big Boss loves "Sweeney Todd" and The Big Boss loves "The Sound of Music." I can't stand either one." Crowley doesn't let go of his hand. He laces their fingers together and uses his other hand to flip through more pages. He's always touching and holding and petting. Ezra can't say he dislikes it, but he finds it confusing. If Crowley is an angel fucker then why is he acting so familiar? He gets a headache if he thinks too hard about it.

"The rest is jargon. I can teach you as we go along." He gives Ezra's hand a squeeze. "You will need to learn how to pull up magic though. Sort of important if you're going to be thwarting and tempting." 

Ezra sits up properly. He doesn't slouch like many of the demons he's seen. He rather likes to sit up straight with his shoulders back and his head up. It feels more dignified. "Why do you keep assuming I want you around when I get to Earth?" He doesn't let Crowley draw his hand away. He squeezes hard to force him to keep his hold. His fellow demon's sunglasses slide down and he searches Ezra's face with a desperation that tastes of a̶̝̿n̶̤̜̹̑̄g̶̢̖̠̽͒è̶̢̡̢l̵͈̥̈́͠ ̵̢͖̏f̵̬̈́o̴͓̘̯͌̊o̵̮͚̅d̵͈̱̝͂͆͝ ̷̡̀̄c̴͚̉̔a̵̢͚̰͝k̴̜̤̼͗͗e̴̼̩͘. He can't decide if he likes the flavor.

  
"We... I...Nnk..." He tries to pull away again. Ezra curls his fingers and his black nails come closer to the tender flesh of Crowley's hand. He smiles the way he knows makes Crowley melt. All he has to do his lift his brow and peek up at the demon through his lashes with a little quirk of his mouth. It always works. "We're friends. Best friends. Always have been. Why would that change?"  
"Oh... Dear boy..." He lets Crowley pull his hand away finally. "You were best friends with an angel. He burned away. You and I don't even know each other." He reaches up and uses his thumbs to wipe away fat tears that fall from those lovely golden eyes. "Now now...You know what I've told you about crying. I hate the sound. There's a lad." He scrunches his nose. "Aren't you lucky I'm going to let you stick around when we leave?"

Crowly nods slowly and swallows down a sob.

* * *

Crowley, Ezra notices, only sits perfectly still when he's relaxed. He stares off into the distance unblinking and unseeing. It’s very calming to watch until it gets boring. It takes a good shake and bark of his name to get him to snap out of it. When he'd not relaxed he's a bundle of anxiety. He's always swaying or shifting the position of his legs. He plays with his hair or jacket or picks at his nails. He often touches Ezra as if he's trying to make sure he's still there. Ezra allows the touches. He likes the control.

"Do you remember anything about Earth?" Crowley asks on the fourth business day. They've turned in all of the paperwork and Ezra is granted his account to accumulate and spend the powers of Hell. He sits on the dingy bedroom on the formerly moldy bed. Crowley had had a fit at the filth and had snapped at least a dozen times to get the mold to finally go away. He'd even threatened it with a soak in bleach. 

Ezra lounges on his back next to him. He snaps in an attempt to untie his bowtie but muscle memory forces him to pull his hand from top to bottom. Crowley keeps correcting him. He has to pull the power up from the depths. "I wouldn't say remember... I feel things. I have thoughts about Earth. Some things remind me of it but I can't seem to find an image to match."

Crowley grabs his hand and forces him to move to from bottom to top. This time his bowtie falls apart. "What do you mean you can't find a match?"

Ezra wiggles a little. He's been practicing since they'd woken up that day to some fat little demon delivering Ezra's account number and setup information. There had been more paperwork. "When some of the underlings pass you they're afraid. I can taste it. It feels like a liquid. It's bubbly and a little sour. It's something I think I would like. I try to say the words but my throat closes up."

Crowley takes his hand again and guides him to retying the bowtie. "Champagne. Is that the word?" He sounds hesitant.

Ezra rolls the word around his mouth. "More detailed than that but yes. Champagne." He smiles wide. He sits up onto his elbows to gaze at the other demon. He'd heard him crying last sleep cycle and had almost told him to shut up. "Sometimes I know I can't remember something. I feel like I've been here before, but I was an angel. Angels don't just pop down to Hell." He pauses. "Well, they seem to now." He had seen more than one angel and demon snogging in some damp corner. Crowley had sneered at the sight. Ezra didn't bother to ask why he cared.

"So...Nothing, really?" He directs Ezra to lay back and then takes his hand again to direct it into another minor act before letting him try on his own. "You don't remember your job or where you lived? The beings you knew?"  
Ezra rolls his eyes. "No. I don't see why I would want to anyway. I Fell. I must have been sent here for a reason. I seem to have been best friends with a demon before the new policies. That wouldn't have looked good in Heaven. They won't let me see my file but you did tell me my crime was Pride." He snaps and Crowley's sunglasses break in half. The demon laughs as Crowley sputters and huffs to grab the pieces.

"You're such a bastard." He groans as he presses the pieces back together and forces them to repair themselves.  
"You don't need them."  
"Everyone has their vices, Ezra."

* * *

Crowley risks leaving Ezra alone in Hell for a few hours. They'd gotten a notice from the delivery demon that Ezra's body was nearly finished and they could pick it up by the end of the day. Of course, day and night in Hell were arbitrary and announced via intercom so there was really no telling when that would be exactly.

He decides that he's going to plant Ezra in the bookshop. He still kept his old flat for storage. Some of Aziraphale's excess books had partially filled up the old plant room and The Statue was still there. It had been banned from the shop even when Crowley begged to shrink it down to more of an accent piece. His old flat wasn't home. It had been a place for him to sleep and watch mindless television between assignments and seeing Aziraphale. He had his plants to take out his anger on. For a while, he'd fed a little family of pigeons that had nested on his balcony. He would never admit to spending hours crouched next to the nest just watching the chicks. He'd never made a good demon and the flat had never made a good home.

The bookshop is nearly the same as they had left it. There's a light coating of dust on top of the usual coating of dust downstairs. Aziraphale's angel wing mug had mold floating on top of it from where he'd left his cocoa in his rush to the bathroom. He grabs it as he passes and dumps it in the sink of their tiny kitchen. He remembers making it with no hint of magic and proudly delivering it to the angel. He'd waited nearly six weeks on a waiting list so long that even his magic couldn't shorten it. The cocoa he'd used had cost him nearly £200 and was made of unicorn tears or some bullshit. He hid it away for special occasions or when Aziraphale was particularly mad at him. The occasion had simply been wanting to see the angel smile. Upon his first sip, he had let out a sigh that actually made one of the Easter lilies in the kitchen spontaneously blossom. The flower was dead now and the plant was wilting. According to his now functioning mobile, they'd somehow been stuck in Hell for nearly a fortnight.

He passes through the bookshop gathering up anything that would key Ezra into the truth. He grabs Aziraphale's satchel from where it lays abandoned by the stairs. As he walks he pulls photos from the walls. As he heads upstairs the area of the previously unused flat becomes cleaner and more organized. Crowley cannot stand clutter or mess. The time he'd recently spent in Hell gives him goosebumps from the lack of labels alone. The bookshop was Aziraphale's but the flat was theirs and he'd been slowly training the angel to pick up after himself.

He pauses in the small, second bedroom. It's currently where he keeps his more finicky plants and some things he hadn't wanted to get rid of but had no place in the rest of their home. He snaps and a bed appears along with an electric blanket. He'd taken to sleeping on the ceiling of Ezra's room. He couldn't stomach the thought of sleeping next to him no matter how cold he found himself.

He picks up a small stack of polaroids and puts them into the satchel without glancing at what is on them. Aziraphale had slowly caught up with technology thanks to Crowley's prodding. He liked to spend time online participating in forums about books and authors. He has a proper mobile now and fancies an overly expensive pair of wireless earbuds for listening to music while he's working in the bookshop. Most of all he found a love for photography. Digital cameras weren't his style. Crowley had found a proper, vintage Polaroid camera and a little tinkering gave it an unending amount of film. Their home was littered in snapshots of their new life. It was a little vain and maybe it was Prideful, but they both wanted proof that all of this was real.

He pointedly ignores the bedroom and goes back to the little kitchen. He starts to drop the dozens of tacky tourist magnets they've collected into the seemingly endless bag. A few photos go into the bag. They had traveled as two beings in love rather than two being always on assignment.

In goes a snapshot taken by some other tourist of Crowley draped over Aziraphale at Place de la Bastille. Neither had been very sad when the Bastille was burned.

Crowley's long arm captures a selfie of the two outside the bookshop watching the SoHo Pride parade. They're both grinning wide and rainbows are reflected in the bookshop windows.

Next was Crowley making a horrified face at his first taste of fresh hummus in Jerusalem. He'd never gotten the hang of eating.

They visited Santorini as they wandered through the Mediterranean. Crowley had practically shoved Aziraphale to stand in front of a mural they found. The angel's eyes practically glow the same color as the blue wings painted behind him on the stark white wall 

Japan sees Crowley standing in the dim light of a planetarium. Above him is a display that shows the slow movement of the stars. He hadn't moved for more than an hour.

A shot of Aziraphale watching "Hamlet" on stage at the Globe. His eyes are bright and wide.

They met on October 29th on the 8th day of the official start of time. Adam and Eve were already cast out. He can barely look at the last polaroid he pulls down. Taken at a party he couldn't remember by someone whose name he'd forgotten the final polaroid shows Crowley pulling Aziraphale out into a rainstorm. On the white margin, his scratchy handwriting reads October 29th. This one he slides into his back pocket to hide in his wallet.

He braves the bedroom last. He takes Aziraphale's pocket watch and stashes it away. A snap finds his own clothes, the ones he doesn't simply mimick onto his body, in the guest room closet. More photos are taken from walls and dressers. The sheets and duvet are forced clean and scentless. He takes Aziraphale's mobile from where it had been charging. He decides to keep it instead of destroying it. It goes into the satchel too. The contents of his bedside table drawer are snapped into the guest room.

One last sweep of the room and it doesn't feel like home anymore. He stops at the door and takes Aziraphale's old, tan frock coat from the coat rack. He rarely wears it anymore now that Crowley's bullied him to update his wardrobe. He drops down so hard onto his knees that he thinks he might be bleeding. It doesn't matter. The demon buries his face into the fabric of the coat. It's worn and soft and still smells strongly of his angel's cologne. He screams into it until his corporeal form needs breath. He draws in a shaky, uneven breath through his nose. "I hate you." He glances up at the sky with a mouth twisted in grief. "I hate you. He believed in you right until the end. Still fucking believed in you after your favorites tried to kill him!" He hiccups as he's wracked with a new wave of tears. "All he did was love."

He sits face buried in the old coat until Dagon's voice manifests through his mobile. "The body is ready."

He snaps himself clean and the satchel reappears in his old flat. "On my way." He takes one last breath before the coat appears in the flat too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eil is supposed to mean something like "of God." Also, his sigil is meant to more or less look like the constellation aquila


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prepare for a brief interlude of short vignettes. This chapter will have two. These aren't 100% needed for the fic but they grant insight into the memory mystery. The next one will have one vignette and two parts of the main story. 
> 
> Btw I'm really excited about how many people are interacting with me. Please tell me what I can improve or what you want to see more of.

"You saw then, what happened?"  
"Yes. It was...unexpected. I got the memo this morning. Your messengers are slow."  
"Your lot insist on stairs. We didn't think the paperwork would go through. I even tried to appeal it. He sinned. Nothing horribly evil alone, but laid out together? I couldn't find an argument."

They used to meet twice a year to go over the various details of running two very large rival offices. Over the last few years, they had started to meet more and more frequently. This was their third meeting this month. They already planned to meet next Friday.

Lord Beelzebub Prince of Hell and Lord of the Flies held out their iced coffee to the angel beside them. Central Park was lovely this time of year in their opinion. All the leaves were dead but it wasn't quite winter yet. They ran warm so the chilly breeze felt good on their skin. They wore a light sweater and a black beanie to cover their fly. The insect protested but usually fell asleep under the warmth. They hid their boils with their magic in a way they had never cared to before. 

Gabriel took the cup and took a sip. He hadn't taken up eating but he had come to enjoy human beverages. He especially enjoyed a trenta caramel macchiato with extra caramel from the human Starbucks. He always felt a little jittery after just a few sips but he was slowly becoming used to the caffeine. He didn't really approve of drugs but caffeine was completely natural. Anything made by the Almighty couldn't be bad! He offered the cup back after taking a few more sips. Unlike the Prince of Hell, the Archangel Gabriel ran cold. He wore a perfectly tailored silver-lavender peacoat and matching scarf but the wind still chilled him. It did not occur to him that a cold human beverage would not help warm his human body temperature.

"And She still signed it? It's unthinkable. Aziraphale was never particularly good at being an angel, but he was never... bad."  
"Heart in the right place sort of thing, white wingzzz?"  
Gabriel grinned wide and dopey at the nickname. "Yes! I think most of what he did came from a Good place."  
Beelzebub rolled their eyes.  
"Angels...Don't Fall anymore. He's the first in so long. It doesn't make sense." He shakes his head. "Who filed the paperwork? What is he called now?"  
"Hizzz accuser is confidential. His name izzz Ezzzra. The demon Crowley named him. It wazzz not on the approved list but we allowed it." They grumpily sip at the drink. It passes between them as if they've done this a thousand times.  
"Ezra. I will make a note of it. I... He was always afraid of me. I tried to be friendly! I tried to encourage him! I even offered for him to come home, but he didn't want to." He shifts slightly closer to the warm demon. 

Things grow quiet for a while. They meet in a spot near the center of the park. The sound of the city is distant and there's the annoying chatter of a squirrel still desperate to collect food for the winter.

"H̸͉̼̲͉͔̏̂̾e̶͖͓͒̄̃͆̿r̷̼̬͝m̸̗͕̼͊͛͜e̴̥̔́s̵͔̦̠̤̱̓̓ĭ̸̛̮̌̂e̸̟̞̱͓̐́l̴͎͓̜̈́̎̅?"  
The demon flinches slightly. "Still nothing, Gabriel. Just noizzze. That isn't coming back."  
"Oh..." He twiddles his thumbs in his lap. His corporeal form is large and the childish action would look silly if he wasn't such a blunt, sincere being. "Can we hold hands?"  
Beelzebub sighs and offers their hand. Gabriel looked like a golden retriever who has just been offered to play fetch.

They go quiet again. Gabriel uses his free hand to hold the cup for Beelzebub. Once the drink is gone there's no excuse for them to be there together.

"I miss you, H̸͉̼̲͉͔̏̂̾e̶͖͓͒̄̃͆̿r̷̼̬͝m̸̗͕̼͊͛͜e̴̥̔́s̵͔̦̠̤̱̓̓ĭ̸̛̮̌̂e̸̟̞̱͓̐́l̴͎͓̜̈́̎̅... Beelzebub." The cup disappears and lands in a nearby trash can. "But... I'm glad you're trying. It makes me happy!"  
Beelzebub squeezes his hand and gives an awkward, twisted mouth smile. "You know I'll always be a demon."  
"I do like the head fly."  
"You're such an idiot."  
"Your idiot!"  
"Ugh!" 

Gabriel squeezed their hand and his smile turned soft. "Your idiot. Your best friend."

The trash can catches on fire.

* * *

Before Earth, Heaven had been a place filled with joy and love. Angels were created with a purpose and a name whispered to them by God herself. Some were created alone and crafted by hand. Some were created in centuries or legions of hundreds or thousands. He had been created in a century of one hundred angels. They were crafted, as all large groups of angels were, to be identical. They were all fine of feature with blonde locks and white eyes.

Zavebe, as Hastur had been called then, had been tasked with watching. His brothers took to the task with great zeal. They wandered the skies and reported the hard work of the others to the various Archangels. There was no malice in their hearts. They wanted Heaven to be as perfect as She desired.

Zavebe liked to watch, but he did not like to interact. He hid among the clouds and watched the legion of universe painters change their God-given forms. The one called Gadreel was the first to turn his power to his celestial body. His blonde hair grew long and wavy red and sparkled with starlight. He formed stars in his hands and pressed them into his eyes. He drenched his wings in swirling black and red and purple. His brothers followed and soon the painters were not the only beautiful things in the sky.

He stayed hidden in his clouds as the others around him started to change. They were all so beautiful... And he was still the same.

"What are you hiding here for?" The voice was deep and rough. Zavebe peeked over his hiding place and did not speak. This angel was dark of skin and his hair was made of tight coils. His eyes slowly shifted from yellow to calm green and his hair subtly shifted to very dark green. His wingtips followed suit and shimmered green. "I'm not going to hurt you. Don't be worried." Fear did not exist yet.

Zavebe slowly shuffled out from behind his hiding place. He wrung his hands and his blue eyes flitted about for an escape. He had never been so good at speaking with the other angels. They all called him too blunt or made jokes he didn't understand. They avoided him altogether or whispered to themselves when they saw him. Some cruelly used their magic to create loud sounds that made him cry. They used his shy nature against him to trick him into embarrassing acts. He could only flounder and stammer when he tried to speak. He'd taken to biting at his hand to calm the jitters. This demon with his bold features and kind eyes would be like them. None had been kind.

"Shy, eh? I'm Yeqon. How long have you been hiding out here, huh? You look like one of the freshly molded still. Come closer."

Zavebe had bitten into his index finger as he obeyed. Yeqon's markings turned from green to soothing blue. "You don't need to hurt yourself. I noticed you earlier and thought you were just having some fun with yourself." Sex and pleasure had not been made into Lust yet. He had reached out with thick fingers and gently pulled Zavebe's hand away from his moutj. He must be one of the planet builders, Zavebe had thought to himself.

"What's your name?"  
Silence.  
"I'm sure you have a beautiful voice. I would like to hear it when you're ready."  
Zavebe frowned. His eyes darted to everything but Yeqon. "Zavebebebe. I-I am called Zavebe." Stupid. Stupid. Stupid!  
Yeqon grinned then. He shifted to pinker tones. "I was right. You should be part of one of the choruses with a voice like that. You sound like the wind."  
"Is... Is that... that good?"  
"It's beautiful."

Yeqon had always been kind to him no matter what the others saw. He helped Zavebe choose his new sunrise hair and black eyes. He stroked over his cheeks to form gentle features and kissed his lips pink. He spoke for him when Zavebe could not find his voice. He kept him safe from the teasing and the looks. He kept him from hurting himself and hiding. He called him his sky and promised to keep him safe.

Yeqon had rebelled. He snarled in the face of the Archangel Raphael, the overseer of the heavens. He didn't want to build planets anymore. He wanted to create beauty and not stone. He had shown possessiveness over Zavebe when such things were frowned upon. He threatened angels who tried to harm him. He misused his powers to crush stone into gems that he used to adorn his beloved's robes and skin. When The War began he pushed Zavebe into hiding and begged him not to come out. He begged him to hide until it was all over. They shared a kiss. Yeqon raised his sword and cut down their brothers.

But loyal Zavebe could not bring himself to hide when the being he loved risked everything to fight for their freedom. He left his hiding place. He tore an angel's wings from their back with his bare hands. He had never felt such fury or such pleasure. Yeqon had never inspired fear among their brothers. It had always been Zavebe who had caused an unsettling chill to run down the spines of any who laid eyes on him.

"Please forget, my sky. Whatever happens to us... I want you to forget. This life was not kind to you." Yeqon had whispered as they pressed together. Around them, their comrades were ripped from Heaven one by one. "I tried to win for you and I failed. I will keep that shame."  
Zavebe searched his love's face. He did not feel the call of the swirling black holes. Maybe God pitied her imperfect creation despite what he had done.  
Yeqon had started to loosen his grip but found blood-soaked hands linking their hands together. "I was made to be with you. "  
"I'm going to Fall, my sky. I feel it pulling me in!"  
The sunset haired demon glanced back. They shared a final kiss and, with no hesitation, Zavebe stepped into the void.

Hastur did not remember landing in the pits of sulfur and acid. He did not remember attacking a fellow demon. He did not remember Heaven or the War. He only remembered flashes of kind eyes and soft kisses. Ligur had found him hiding and trying to claw away the pain. "Oh, my sky, you haven't changed." He had held him close and named his Hastur. For six thousand years they stood side by side and the angels who had once been cruel to gentle Zavebe bent to him in fear. Ligur kept his shame close and kept Hastur even closer. 

Now Hastur hid again. He begged to a God he no longer believed in to bring his Ligur back. Maybe God heard him. Maybe She turned a blind eye. Maybe She didn't listen anymore. Still, he begged. He held on to every scrap of memory he could until he screamed and burned and bled. Yeqon. Ligur's name had been Yeqon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeqon is supposedly the first angel to convince the other angels to mate with humans


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> enjoy some fluff

“I see it now with the clinging, angel. I’m beginning to realize how much of a pain in the ass I am.”  
“Oh darling, you’re never a pain in the ass! When we tried you went all... Ropey.”  
“Aziraphale!”

Crowley playfully tries to bite at the arms looped around his shoulders. He gets a good grip on one sleeve and shakes his head like a dog. He even adds in proper hellish growling that only makes Aziraphale’s laugh louder and higher.

The angel stays pressed against Crowley through the back of the chair he’s pretzeled himself into. One lazy hand drops down to stroke his chest. The other he uses strokes through the demon’s bed head.

“So sensitive.” He teases. Crowley can never keep up a pout for long and it only takes a minute, maybe two, for the demon to tip his head into the soft touches in his hair. Aziraphale kisses behind his ear and then sets his chin on one bony shoulder. “And what are you doing ?” He'd realized Crowley had hidden away almost all morning sometime around lunchtime.

Crowley's anxiety bubbles up close enough to his skin for Aziraphale to feel it. The angel uses his nails now. He knows Crowley can’t control it. He likes to ask questions but does not like to answer them. Aziraphale thinks, in hindsight, that Crowley has always been anxious about something and everything and nothing. He tries to help when he recognizes it now that he knows it's there.

“I’m drawing.”  
“On the computer? Darling that looks like the top of a Tupperware!”

Crowley, always with the times, has recently added a very nice computer to his plant room. Recently meant it hadn't been there yesterday. There is a desk and a chair big enough for him to get into all of his awkward positions. On the desk is a flat, black plastic pad and there had been an inkless pen in his hand.

“It’s a drawing tablet.” He shifts barely and his muscles go tight.  
“Drawing tablet.” His hands wander to massage the muscles right at his hairline. “I didn’t know you drew. Learned it from da Vinci then? Van Gogh? I know you fancy his work.” His demon relaxes. He’d been expecting criticism.

“Nnk... N’vean.”

“The Tower of Babel has fallen, pet. I do not speak that language.”

Crowley stares at the screen and refuses to speak. There are only small, meaningless shapes and swirls as if he’d been testing things.

“Crowley... You know I don’t like when you get like this. It’s okay to talk to me.” Talking has never been their strength but it’s getting there. Aziraphale still, at heart, fears he will be punished. Crowley does a poor job of hiding that he still fears rejections.

“In Heaven. I learned to draw in Heaven.” The demon speaks and it’s shaky. The breath he releases has the slightest hiss to it. He grips the hand that had been rubbing his chest and just holds it.

“Oh! That’s right... You were one of the painters. It was always so nice to see the sky when it was time for a shift change.” It wasn't a comfortable topic for either of them— the War and Heaven and the Fall.

They had never met in Heaven. Crowley was older, if that was possible, and had spent his time flitting from group to group. He spent time with the sky painters and the rock builders. One of the choirs was always a little off-pitch but they were a nice bunch. He found a place among Lucifer's followers. He never went near the angels being trained by Michael. Something about the cherubim gave him the chills. He didn't fear them. He didn't have the ability yet. Their creation did not bode well and he had been able to feel it.

Azirapahle was younger. He had been formed not long before the War. There were already whispers of something brewing but he focused on training. He and his three brothers had been hand molded by the Almighty to guard something and so he put his whole effort into Michael’s harsh training regime. None of them knew what guarding actually meant or what a sword was meant to do. They didn’t ask questions.

Crowley goes perfectly quiet. He stares at nothing and barely breathes. Stuck in his head. Poor pet. “Crowley...” He breathes the name out as a sigh and then a little more firmly. “Crowley.” He steps around him and takes Crowley’s face in his hands. He uses his thumbs to gently massage his cheeks and around his eyes.

The first time he’d seen Crowley go into such a state had been terrifying. It had been over a simple thing. Aziraphale had snapped at Crowley for asking for the third time in a row for Aziraphale to finally come to bed. He’d gone silent and the angel assumed he’d won the not-argument. Minutes later when he turned to his husband he found him with shoulders hunched and that faraway gaze. Later the serpent admitted it happened when the “feeling” inside became too much. Aziraphale spent the next morning reading about human anxiety. His heart had broken when he realized Crowley had had to deal with such a thing alone for so long.

“That’s it. Come back to me.” He smiles gently when those big, yellow eyes finally closed to blink. “Don’t cry, my love. You know I hate to see you cry. Come here.” He steps closer and Crowley wraps long arms around his waist. He strokes his red hair and shushes him. “Always too much going on in that pretty head.”

In time the demon sniffs back some awful human mucus and pulls away enough to wipe his eyes. “Shit, angel. I... I didn’t mean to... I don’t know where that came from.” His laugh is awkward and hollow. His arms fall to his sides and release the angel before him.  
“It happens, my love. Are you ready to talk about it more? I’m awfully curious as.” He never stops touching. He knows Crowley practically craves it.

“I stopped after the... You Know.” He waves his hand vaguely. “But I miss it. I just... miss it. I don't even know if I still can.”

Aziraphale miracles up a warm washcloth and uses it to wipe Crowley’s face. He playfully pinches his nose just to get a reaction. He smiles wide and scrunches his nose teasingly at the swatting hands. He finally releases the sharp nose and the washcloth disappears.

"Pain in the ass." Crowley crosses his arms over his chest as if he's actually cross. He glares at a trembling staghorn fern mounted out the wall. When Aziraphale doesn't move he finally looks at him. "... Thank you, angel." He's granted a soothing kiss on the forehead.

"I can't wait to see what you come up with, darling boy."

Eventually, the computer and tablet end up in Crowley's favorite sunny spot downstairs. 

* * *

Crowley steps off of the escalator that leads down into Hell and is greeted by Beelzebub, Dagon, and the newly bodied Ezra. The body isn't all the different from his previous corporation or his incorporeal form. It's a little thinner and a little younger but his hair is still thick, white curls and four pupils stare back at him.  
"Do you like it? I'm not as flashy as you but look! I figured out clothes. I made them myself." Ezra wears a bastardized version of Aziraphale's old ensemble: black trousers, black waistcoat, and charcoal dress shirt. He's mimicked Crowley's jacket to an extent. It's fitted to make him seem broader around the shoulders.

Crowley reaches out first to tap the navy blue and black tartan bowtie and then flick a shiny button engraved with the head of a goat. "A little cliche, don't' you think?" He grins.

Ezra pouts. "It's from a picture I saw in the welcome package. I think it's charming."  
"And the tartan?"  
"Stylish!"

Beelzebub buzzes to gain their attention. "The demon Ezzzra is free to leave. We will send the first set instructionzzz in seven to ten businezzz dayzzz. Until then get him acclimated with the human world."  
Crowley lifts his sunglasses to look down at them. He even bends over to be at eye level. "I don't take orders from you, Beelzebub."  
The Lord of the Flies rolls their eyes. "Please."  
He winks and lets his glasses drop back onto his nose. "Gotcha. Come on then," a pause, "lamb."

Ezra takes his hand with a quirked brow. Beelzebub and Dagon leave with no fanfare. Beelzebub even looks relieved. "Lamb?"  
"Have you seen your hair? When we get to your place I'm styling it. I swear those idiots don't know what good hair looks like." Ezra laughs and leans into him as they ascend the elevator.

* * *

Humans were funny things. The sensitive ones knew at a glance that Aziraphale and Crowley were something they could not place. They chalked it up to indigestion usually. The really sensitive ones could see the glimmer of hidden wings and they knew which to avoid. The normal ones felt something they did not realize. It was like a primal instinct embedded in every human. They gave angels and demons names that didn't really make sense or names they saw once in some obscure supposedly holy text. They gave those same angels and demons traits and jobs. The names and jobs were usually wrong, but the traits ascribed to the beings were usually spot on.

They called him Jehoel. Mothers cried silent tears washed away by heavy rain. The Ark rose. The land flooded. Hidden deep within Jehoel shushed terrified children. They would be okay. He would keep them safe. Over the centuries the demon Anthony J. Crowley would occasionally find a child on his doorstep. Scared mothers felt, deep down in their souls, that he would help their babies.

Zaphiel held the hands of those who were deemed untouchable. He whispered Her love in their ears and pushed away their fear. They were not abandoned for loving. They died in pain he could not take away as those sworn to care for the sick watched with hate in their hearts. Mr. Fell of A. Z. Fell and Co. sometimes greeted confused looking young men and women as they wandered into the bookshop. They were drawn in by feelings of unconditional love and acceptance. They left with books assuring them that they were normal.

"I don't know why you've always been drawn to them." Crowley drapes himself unnaturally over the arm of one of the worn chairs of the bookshop. He has twice the number of vertebrae as a regular human and an extra set of ribs. He easily contorts his back in ways that would snap into even the most talented gymnast in half.

"Whatever do you mean?" Aziraphale climbs onto a stool to press a vinyl decal into one corner of the old window.

"We aren't... like them, angel."

He steps down and looks quite pleased with the little rainbow flag. Humans were so inventive!

"Well... Maybe..." He turns his attention to Crowley and rolls his eyes at the sight. "Good Lord... Will you sit properly for once."  
"Uh uh." Crowley does at least sit up so he can lounge a little more comfortably. "We weren't made to breed. We don't have their expectations. I just don't understand why you're so attached."

Aziraphale leans against the back of the chair. He reaches down and prods the strip of stomach exposed by Crowley's lazy lounging. He gives one of the red hairs a playful tug and laughs at the yelp. Crowley keeps his body hair up to fashion just as he did the hair on his head. Apparently "happy trails" were in fashion again. "We've been here for six thousand some years. I've always taken this form. Humans make assumptions and I find the labels pleasing."  
Crowley rubs the spot Aziraphale had teased. He then stretches his gangly arms to rest them on top of his head and threads his fingers into his strategically mussed hair. "Seems boring always being...male." He pulls a face. "You could be a woman. You could be nothing! You could be a mix! You'd be quite sexy in an empire-waisted dress. You've got the legs for it to be quite short." His yellow eyes go wide at the idea. "Long sleeves ending in gauzy ruffles. Peter pan collar!"

Aziraphale laughs into the crook of his arm. Crowley watched fashion shows as if they were football games.

Crowley blinks when he realizes he's being laughed at. "What? Can't a demon dream?"  
"I like this body, dear boy." He pats his cheek. "And I like male bodies." He quirks his mouth in an attempt not to smile.  
"I swear if you're thinking about Ryan Reynolds I will find him and burn him!"

Aziraphale laughs again and looks down fondly at the demon. "What they've gone through reminds me of us. Not everyone accepts them. So many of them have been hurt. I feel a need to protect them and love them. Many of them have not felt that kindness."

Said demon averts his eyes in thought. "S'good reason I guess."

For the first time since he'd first asked sometime in the 1980s Crowley trudges out of the bookshop to watch as a sea of rainbows pass them by. They walk hand in hand. Those who brush against Aziraphale's shoulder suddenly find their doubts abated even if it's only for a short time.

Crowley pauses at a booth selling flags and buttons and other small accessories. Aziraphale pretends to focus on a man with a guitar. When Crowley steps away from the booth with a little acrylic flag keychain striped yellow, purple, black and white he says nothing. If the little nonprofit running the booth suddenly finds a very large donation in their account the next day... Well, Crowley will claim it was an accident.

"We should take a picture!" Aziraphale gasps when they make it back to the bookshop. The Polaroid appears in his hand and he offers it to the tall demon.  
"Oh fine. Smile pretty, angel."

* * *

They stand outside A. Z. Fell and Co. after a ride in the Bentley that had Ezra laughing.

"I live here?"  
"We live here. I made a room for myself. Seems easier."  
"I own a bookshop."  
"For a while now, yes."  
"I can't read."

Crowley glances at the demon through the side of his sunglasses. Ezra completely rejected the idea of wearing anything to cover his own eyes. "Well...You could before." It binds up his throat for a moment. She was cruel. "Let's get inside. Feels like it's going to rain." He pushes the door open and motions for Ezra to walk in first.

"Oh... It feels... Loved."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We know the angels and demons are sexless and genderless. I do headcanon that Aziraphale would call himself a cisgender, gay man and Crowley would go with nonbinary. As for his sexuality? Who knows. He's been in love with Aziraphale for way too long to care about finding a word for it.


	12. Chapter 12

"Crowley, what's wrong with my skin?"

Ezra had decided to shed his jacket when they walked inside the bookshop. It was horribly dusty and ever so cluttered. He felt some residual fondness for the place but things would need to change. He'd pushed his sleeves up and started walking through all the shelves and piles taking stock. He couldn't understand any of the words he saw but he already knew what needed improving.

Crowley, always listening and waiting with coiled worry, is out of his chair and at Ezra's side before he can register the movement. He grabs Ezra's arm a little roughly and inspects spotty red welts that have popped up. He lets out a sigh of relief and bumps his forehead against Ezra's shoulder. "It's just the Bibles. You get used to it after a bit. Must've kicked up the dust when we came in." He takes a deep breath and Ezra notes a forked tongue flicking out for a split second. His horizontal pupils gave him quite a wide field of vision.

He stands up straight, or as straight as he ever stands. There's a near-constant forward hunch of his shoulders when they're alone together. In the halls of Hell, he'd walked around like he owned the place. On Earth, he seems weighed down.

"Right. There's some cream upstairs that'll take care of it." He jerks his head and Ezra follows him up the stairs. He notes a few square stained spots on the yellow wallpaper leading up to the attached flat.  
"Can't we just get rid of the dust?" He touches one of the spots as they pass.

"I've been saying the same thing for years, lamb. See you...Well, he would bring up spring cleaning every year. Then get sidetracked halfway through and the dust just built up. At this point, I think the books generate it out of spite."

"You talk a lot when you're nervous." Ezra scratches at his arm. He has the sudden urge to scratch down to the bone but represses it. Seems messy.

Crowley nudges the bathroom door open. There's a perfectly round burn ring marring the hardwood. "Sit down. I'll do it for you. They're starting to pop up on your face."

He hoists himself up to sit on the small counter next to the sink. "I don't like when you pretend not to hear me." He grabs Crowley's outstretched arm. He'd been digging around in the medicine cabinet. He squeezes harder when he gets no response. "Crowley."  
Crowley responds only when his sunglasses snap in half. The lenses shatter as the hit the porcelain. "What am I supposed to do, eh? Agree with you? Tell you that you make me fucking nervous?" 

Ezra feels a lot. Instinctually he knows that demons are generally stunted in their emotional growth and yet he feels. The emotions feel too large for his body whether they are his or the emotions of others. His stomach feels bloated with it all. Sometimes he has to let it out or he thinks he'll burst.

Crowley lets out a desperate, croaking gasp. Ezra is off of the counter in one fluid motion. He only needs one hand to slam Crowley against the wall by the neck. Shame this body wasn't taller. He would love to hear Crowley's stupid boots scrabble against the wood. His fear tastes like d̴͓̆ò̵̳ü̶͇b̵͓̆l̶̟̑e̶̟͑ ̵̧̈́b̷͔̚ẽ̸̼r̴̢͒g̵͖̈́a̸̙̓m̸͇̀ọ̸t̸̡̎ ̸̖̈e̶̠̅a̶̝͘ṟ̶̀l̷͔̆ ̵̠̐g̷̳̿r̷͚̊e̵̼̓y̶̱͛ ̴. "If you ever speak to me like that again I will rip out your tongue." He leans in just a little closer and plants a whisper of a kiss against the corner of Crowley's mouth. He gives a final squeeze just to hear him gag before abruptly letting go.

Crowley presses himself back against the wall and pants hard. There's a bruise forming on the pale skin of his corporeal form. One of his eyes starts to bloom red along the white sclera from where a blood vessel has burst.

Ezra hops back up onto the counter and gives him a sweet, closed mouth smile that shapes his lips almost like a heart. "These bodies don't require breath. You really have gone native, haven't you?"

* * *

"This beverage is green. Is it supposed to be green?"  
"Oh just try it. It's a frappucino. You like frappucinos."

Gabriel sniffs the drink before taking a sip. "This does not contain coffee."  
"It's green tea. It's made of leaf water instead of bean water." Beelzebub takes the cup back.

A thin layer of snow coats everything in sight. Central Park always seems to be the most beautiful after a fresh snowfall. The white lights the humans have used to decorate some of the trees cast a sparkle along the ground. Christmas was one of Hell's ideas. Heaven recognized it as a consumer holiday. It was a good thing children were considered innocents or the sheer amount of Greed they generated every year would give the poor angels in the Office of Greed and Avarice nervous breakdowns. Hell had an office just for Christmas Greed.

Gabriel scoots a little closer to Beelzebub. He wears two sweaters under his very stylish silver-grey overcoat. Angels run cold and he is absolutely freezing. The nose his body sports is red and his cheeks match. Beelzebub offers him a sip and he shakes his head. "I think I will refrain from consuming today."  
They buzz with suspicion. "You never refrain from consuming Starbucks." They lean in close and then roll their eyes. "Oh for the love of Satan..." They stand and remove their coat. They drape it over Gabriel's front. "Stay here, idiot."  
Gabriel looks like he might get up to follow but he pulls the coat closer. It's much too small but it adds a little more protection from the biting cold and it smells distinctly of Raid brand bug killer. It's Beelzebub's favorite cologne.

The Lord of the Flies returns with a large beverage in a white cup some five minutes later. "You will burn yourself if you drink this right away. Just hold it." They sit closer than they had before. Gabriel looks properly confused but takes the cup.

"This beverage container is opaque." He declares. He pokes his hands out from the jacket just enough to hold it.  
"Hot chocolate. Not as much caffeine but it izzz a traditional drink for winter."

They sit in comfortable silence. Gabriel obediently holds the warm cup and Beelzebub sips their frappuccino.

"You can drink it now. It shouldn't be too hot."  
Gabriel sniffs this drink too before taking a sip. He takes another big sip with a pleased sigh. "She is wonderful to have created this." He declares. "Would you like some? Thank you for purchasing it for me!"  
"You're like a dog," Beelzebub complains. "I think you just blessed it. I'll pass."  
"Oh... You're probably right."

Beelzebub lets out a sigh. "We have him under constant surveillance. We can't see inside the damned building. There's still residual holiness and it's not going away."  
"I could send someone in to try and dispel it? Has he been seen doing anything strange? Miracles maybe?"  
Beelzebub buzzes and shakes their head. "No. The usual minor temptation. He did use half his daily budget one day on getting rid of dust, but that was weeks ago." They pause. "The demon Crowley has been acting strange. He's been... Thwarting." They choke on the word. "It's not natural even for a demon like him. These last few years he still went around performing temptations on occasion. He's never thwarted."  
"Well... Send the miracle reports up to my office and I'll have my people look it over. I have an awful feeling about all of this." His counterpart nods. "I'll have it sent up."

They fall into silence again. Gabriel smiles at his drink. "Will you sing for me? Like you used to?"  
"Don't think I can anymore."  
"Try?"  
Beelzebub sighs and it comes out as a low buzz. Gabriel has to scoot around to rest his cheek against their shoulder.

"L̵͇̖̪̈́i̴͉̎̈́̅g̵͈͂̒h̵̼͂t̶̳̰̗̀ ̸̢̫̲̈́̾̀ớ̵̭͈f̴̺̾ ̸̹̺͛ͅt̶̰̰̏̀̿ḧ̷̜́͌ę̶̛͙͕ ̶̛̞̀̑w̶̤͒̈́̐ò̵̖̔͌ͅr̵̳̞̍͘͝l̶͎̫̈d̷̫̔͒,̸̻̈́̐ͅ ̵̥̠̙͑͗Ỹ̴͜͝o̸̮̭͗u̵͔͛̋̒ ̸̝̭̬̂̕͝s̵̨͍̖̈́t̷͍̳̱̋̚e̸̬̜͖̒́p̴̣͛p̴̞̅ẻ̴̈̔ͅd̶̯̊̂̾ ̸̙̰͌̓d̵̙̺͉̓o̶͈̩͒́w̵̬͌n̶̥̲̅ ̷̜̱̋ȉ̶͉͎͋ͅņ̸͍͓̔͂̓t̶̻̜̪͋o̶̥̓̒̋ ̷͇̳̍͘ḏ̴͔͑a̶̯͙̮͐̄̈́r̴̞̥̆ḳ̷̪̄̚n̴̡͖̙̈̈́̀e̷̪̲͌z̷̥̑̍͜͜z̷̙̙̾z̵̘̄̚  
̶̼͂O̸̢̼̦͒͘p̷̳̅̀̀ë̸͉̂͝n̵̲̟̈̎͌e̷̮̫͝d̶̺͌̈́ ̷͉̯͆̀̏m̶͍͐͐̑͜y̶̩̟͖͐͘ ̶̻̯̙̑̊e̴̥̙͉̒y̷̻̲̓̔e̶̘̒s̸͎̗̅̋ͅ,̶̳̫̼̋͝ ̸̡͙̐̑l̷͇͗̓e̵͔̯̽̃͜t̵̞̔̐̃ ̵̧̡͈̈́m̷̭͉͓̂̋ē̴͈̙̎̓ ̵̤̣̗̿s̶͎͓̭͛͑ë̷͖̣̊͊e̶͓̼̾͆͝  
̴̮̬͊̀B̸̧̽́͜ḙ̴̟͔̈a̵̲̽u̴̞̮̭̔̈́ţ̷̮̺͂̏̉y̵̢̆ ̷͉̟̥̌t̷̡̛̋h̵͜͝a̸̳͊̀̈́t̵̟͚́͑͜͠ ̶̪̑̽̕ḿ̸͖̾͋a̶̛͇͝d̵̹̾͆̄e̴͈̓͑͗ ̵͙́͐̕t̶̲̬̼̄h̶̨̒̀͒͜ì̶̜̗̿s̶̝͘ ̴̨͔͋͝h̶͙̹̾ę̷̥͛̓̆a̵̧̖̻̾r̶͈̈́͆̓t̴͍͑͆ ̷͚̊͆̅a̸̟̖͒d̵̮̩̙̍͝o̶͚͎̗̎̕r̸̡̄́̓e̴͕͗ ̸̺̪̲́͒Ȳ̷̟͒͛ō̶̢̪̝̅ů̵̮̜͔̌̔  
̴̛͖̓̿H̶̻͝ȍ̴̹̒̄p̷͔͑̐̀è̴̯́͘ ̸̩̱̈́ȯ̶̰͈͚́͗f̶͖͉̯́̍ ̸͓͎͝ä̵͓̀͝ ̷̠͆l̷͈̉i̴̭̦̠̓͌f̷̹͔̏́́e̷͖̊̾͐ ̴̦͐̌̽s̵͍̟̩̉̈p̴̨̻̅̏̕ḛ̴̐̃̽n̶̳͊̀͜t̷͍́̉̈́ ̶̬̅̾̎ͅẉ̷͌̐͝i̶͍̕t̷̯̝̣̒͒́h̸͉̓͐̅ ̵͎̓̑̐Y̷̙̒̓ǫ̴̤̜̂u̵̯̱̺͌͌"

* * *

"Parcel for you," Crowley calls as he sorts through the mail. There are the usual bills and a few letters of request from potential buyers. Crowley has two dozen magazine subscriptions so there are four in the pile. He drops the bills into a basket on the table right next to the door that leads into the flat. The letters of request go into a basket next to it. His magazines are neatly stacked next to that.

The bookshop isn't quite the same anymore. New shelves and bookcases have sprung up. Gone are the haphazard piles and overly stuffed shelves. The books are organized in a system that Crowley doesn't understand any more than he understood Aziraphale's system. Ezra works by cover color and smell. The serpent is mostly confused by the smell bit. In his opinion books smell like books. The flat is immaculate without the hints of the mess left behind by his angel. Furniture has been shifted and even the walls have been snapped a fine shade of blue instead of yellow. The square marks on the walls refused to disappear.

It wasn't home anymore. Their flat had been a mix of their styles. This was all demon with darker colors and flashes of red. His plants still dot the place but they don't seem as green anymore. 

"Who is it from?" Ezra peeks out of his bedroom. The sheets on his bed are ugly blue tartan instead of ugly tan tartan. Crowley had only ever allowed the horrid things because they'd been amazingly soft.

"Downstairs." He leans against the doorjamb and rests his head against the dark wood.

"Oh! Maybe it's another commendation!" Ezra gasps in delight. He takes the package and rips off the plain, brown paper wrapping. "I'm still waiting on my gold star you know."

In the hallways hangs Crowley's commendation for the M25. It was a map of London with Crowley's sigil and a gold star stuck in the corner. He was quite proud of it.

"Oh! How charming!" Ezra shows Crowley the contents of the velvet box inside of the parcel. Hell has sent him a pair of black leather and silver sleeve clips with classically satanic goats pressed into the silver. Crowley grabs the accompanying letter still inside. "They never sent me anything fancy. I just got a bonus." He grumbles.

"Principality Ezra,  
Accept this commendation for your work in leaking nude photographs of a wide variety of male celebrities. The Office of Lust and Debauchery received a 2% increase in Lust related sins. Keep up the bad work.  
Unpleasantly,  
Demon Resources"

He rolls his eyes. "You only wanted to see Ryan Reynolds naked, lamb." Ezra wiggles as he rolls up his sleeves and slides the clips on. "I can't help it! He is delicious. Speaking of, come and lay with me. You can draw on that stupid thing of yours while I work!" He flashes his usual, subtlely pleading smile and Crowley sighs.  
"Fine fine. Be there in a tick." He waved his hand absently as he heads for his own room. He grabs his iPad with the shattered camera and his mobile with the shattered camera. Ezra doesn't allow anyone to take photos or videos of him. When he walks around the city CCTV cameras nearby always mysteriously glitch. The bookshop no longer contains a single mirror or overly polished surfaces. If breaking a mirror causes seven years of bad luck Ezra has a few hundred years of bad luck to look forward to.

Crowley pads back into Ezra's bedroom and drops onto the bed. Ezra pets his hair briefly with a fond smile. "Tomorrow we are going to drive out to Cambridge. Exams for the law students start and I want to cause a little," he scrunches his nose sweetly, "mischief." He doesn't really ask questions so much as he demands things.

Crowley was always up for a good spot of mischief, but this could ruin lives. He smiles anyway and nods. "Of course, lamb."  
"That's a sweet boy."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beelz sings Here I Am to Worship by Tim Hughes because I'm not smart enough to come up with some fake ancient angel-y song


	13. Chapter 13

Anyone who spent more than ten minutes in the Bentley would realize that it has a mind of its own when it came to music. Crowley never questioned why or how. Things just happened like all CDs morphing into Queen after a fortnight in the car. Heaven, even his mobile only played Queen when he’d tried to use the Bluetooth function to play music. When Aziraphale had come into his life more frequently, that is when he’d decided to settle into his flat in London, he’d bought a compilation of classical music. Every two weeks he bought a new disc just to see Aziraphale smile. He had learned to enjoy Queen in his own way. He would tap his hands on his thighs along with the song or, on occasion, join Crowley in a completely off pitch, terrible rendition of Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy. Neither of them was a very good singers but it had been fun.

Ezra leans against Crowley’s side as he drives them toward Cambridge University as requested. It’s early and the sun has barely risen. The Bentley is silent. Ezra doesn’t like music. He claimed that classical sounded like white noise and whatever it was that came on the radio in the Bentley was as garbled and mixed up as letters.

“We should stop for coffee next shop we see.” He mumbles slightly muffled from where his cheek is smushed against the soft fabric of Crowley’s jacket.

“Mmhm. Yeah. I’ll keep my eye open.” Crowley doesn’t bother to disagree anymore. He's had thoughts of leaving. He could go anywhere. He could go to Alpha Centauri liked he’d planned. The Moon wouldn't be all that bad as long as he brought something to keep him busy. He considered popping up to Heaven and making enough trouble that that traitorous bitch Michael would run him through with her sword. He even thought about the simple option: walk into a church a douse himself in Holy Water.

But he couldn’t.

Aziraphale had been his everything. He’d been his light for so long. He’d heard in a movie once, “The light that burns twice as bright burns half as long - and you have burned so very, very brightly.” The angel hadn't liked the movie. He didn't get the metaphor about the Replicants and Crowley had given up trying to explain it. Aziraphale had burned too brightly for his own good. He had loved too much. His light had burned into Crowley's brain until it left a scar no amount of magic could heal. He couldn't bring himself to let go of the sliver of his angel that was left.

Ezra was not Aziraphale, but sometimes he could imagine nothing had changed. There were periods were Ezra was perfectly sweet and kind. He would smile endearments or bring Crowley coffee when he hid away to draw. He held his hand or stroked his hair so gently. He was overly cheery with bookshop patrons in a manner that made them just uncomfortable enough to leave. He indulged in fixing bookbindings. When Crowley read to him he settled against him so close that his white hair tickled his nose and the scent of his cologne filled his nostrils.

Some days his moods snapped. He was an exemplary demon. He was clever and knew exactly what it would take to cause waves of evil. He grew violent toward Crowley or innocent humans. Crowley's skin was often marked with scratches and bruises. He didn't always miracle them away. He snarled out insults meant to pull every string that kept Crowley together. He destroyed things he knew Crowley loved. On one horrible occasion, he had had to yank Ezra by the hair to stop him from plowing a double-decker into a crowded restaurant. Thank Someone those moods were rare.

The worst days were the in-betweens. The days Ezra would smile and stroke his cheek while calling him an idiot. The days Ezra asked for a cup of tea and then reminded Crowley that he didn’t need him. He could seduce any human into being a better servant. The days he would kiss Crowley’s wedding ring and laugh at him for being a piss poor demon who had been brought down by an angel.

He remained because he still loved Aziraphale. He remained because he was afraid of being truly alone for the first time in six thousand years. He remained because he was afraid of what Ezra would do if he was left to his own devices. He remained because Aziraphale would be so disappointed. He remained because he was too weak to lose the only thing he had left of his angel.

The Bentley decides it wants music some thirty minutes into their drive. The radio flickers on and starts to play the first notes of a song. Crowley reaches out to turn it off but Ezra stops him with a gentle hand on his wrist. “Let it play.”

Of course, the damned care plays Queen. Freddie Mercury, an amazing man who had caused him nearly a year of grief-sleep when he’d died, starts to sing Bohemian Rhapsody.

Ezra's brows furrow. He chokes and his body gasps out,

  
"Ģ̶̧̠̻̳͚̥͓̭̯̗̙̖͚͉̳̖̄̾̃̈́͆̇̐͘͜͜ͅǫ̷̹̘̠̮̜̯̗͎̖͇̖͚̺͉̺̇̂̓̌̒̒͜͜͜ǫ̶̛͎̻̦̬͍͙͕̬̝͓̈́̑̔̒́̒̓͊̀̓̄̍͌̈́̂͑̕͜͝͝d̴̪̼̰͔͕̠̠͚̗͚̭̫̤͇̣͖͙͖͕̝̥̿́̿͂͂̍̊̈́̀̍̓̎̚̚̚͝͝͠b̷̡̧̢̼͉̣͕̰̲͇̞̝͇̩͓̪̟̞̓̆͊͛̏̾̈́͆͑͌̾̈́̇̃́̂͛̌̏̕̚y̵̨̰̦̘͈̬͉͈̳̟̟̻͍̞̯͚̺̭͕̙̺̜̻͑͊e̶͙̲̫̙̻͖̠̼͋̍͗͆͑̍,̴̨̨̩̫͚̞̖̜̫͓̗͉͎̳̲̼͋͑̿̓̆̇̈́́͌̎̔̀́̇̅̚͝ ̷̡̰̫̳̗͈̱̦̹̙̹̦̜͍̮́͆͊̓̿́͌̇̌̒͂͗̀̕͠e̷̫̣̳̙͉͚̝̺̲̲̪͖̦̪̣̦͉̽̒̈́̀͋̈́̿̏ͅͅv̵̡̢͕̖̲̝͕̞̼̰̱̣̼̹̥̪͍̖̥̲͓̘̱̽̋͒͐̐̓̉̒̂e̷͇͚̯̪͓̣̖̦̣͓̟̯̦̽͊̆̽̔̀̀͗̔͗ͅŗ̷̢̗̼̞̝̠̹̦͇̯̟̃͐̄̈̊͗̽̂̆̀̌̒̏̄̿̏̽̎͜͝ỹ̸͔͇͔̦̞̲̯̖̰̖̙͎̫̞̻́̍͗̒̎͊̀̿̎̇̈́̾̅̓͋͛͜͜͝͠͝ͅͅb̸̡̡͎̘̜͍̺͇̖̮͖͈̦̗̻̲͔̭̠̐̓̈͋̈̓̈́͘͜ơ̶̛͉͋̑̅̇̉̐̓̓͒̌̃̎̔̂̈́̑̔̚̕͠d̵̪̞̈́͗̏͆̀͑̈́̉͌̽͗̇͑̂͐̈́͌͜ÿ̷̦̝̳͓́̓͆̈͒̄̎͗̐͋̒̒͒̈͛͝,̴̨̢̢̢̳̤̠̭͖̩̓͌̾͒̃̔̀̀̈́̆̆̉̃̕͘͠ ̶̛̜͎͈̥̥͔̠͊͛͐̊̽̇͒̍̓͗͒̂̀̀͗͘̚̕̕͝Į̸̞̖̝͚͓̫̗͍̠̻͂̈́̈́̄͗͗͐̈́̆͐̃̍͊̆̌͘̕̚̚͘͘͝͝ͅ'̸̛͎̦̞͓͉͚̐͂̄̅̑̎͋̈̆̊̑͋̔̑v̴̨̧͙̼̮̖̫͙̞͖̮̥͙̭̰̹̓͂̿̃̏̏̒͌̋̋̔̆̓̅͛́ͅȩ̷̭̙̖̟͓̜̟̩̘̇̇̊́̈́̽̒̑̌͂͆͘͘͝ͅͅͅ ̴̢̻̻̯̟̱͙̬̤̈̃̏g̶̢̨̛̙̪̞̜̖͚̻̼͉͕̜͚̺͍̻͎̍̑̿̆̋̏̏̑̐̍ͅỏ̴̡̡̢̳̟̜̜̹͚̟̞͂͛̓̍̎́͌͗͊̆͛̑͝t̴̡̧̨̮̦̞̣͎͕̜̮̆̈̒̉̿̌͆͐̿̆͛̈́̄̕͝͝ ̵̛̻̤̠̘͉̯̣̠̺̤̗̪̫̖̩̺̱̝̮͕͇͖̪̔̅́̿͒̍̃̀̂̿͋̈̔̊͑̿͛̏̕̚ẗ̵̢͓̀̋͒̾̓̈́͂͑̍͗̾̕ȏ̸͙͖̹̫̭̱͑̾̓̽̊̋̒͐̈̇̈̈́̎̀͐̈́̏̚ ̶̛͖̘̺̹͉̱̩͖͎̉́́͌̒̅̓̀̒̀̑̚̚͠͝͝g̵̡̹̰̹̳͖̗̝͑ơ̸̠͊̄͂͛͛̋̅̃͛͊̀͊̌͜͝.̶̢̛̭̜͍̳͍̠̝̣̺̟̝̤͌̃̉̒͗̏̅̽̊͂̒̿̈͑͜͝ ̵̜̭̼̪͔͇̅̉͛̍̈́̃̌̔̾̂͆̔͆͐͊̎̎̚̚͝Ḡ̵̨̩͔̩̪̙̻̝͕̝͇̼̰̝̰͔̼̥̰̱̳̀̈́̀͌́̀͜ö̸͍̻́̽̌̐̌̓̈́̀͑́̈́̋͌͋͊̄̚͝͠ţ̷̢̛̛̦̻͉̭̩͎͙̭̱̟́͑̄̿̊̎̈́̔̔̏̋̆͒͛̕͘͝ẗ̶̛́̄̈́̏͋͐̍̋͊̅̅̀͠ͅä̶̢̛̦̥͈̰͚̟͇̙̹͈̮͎̤͚̰̗́͑̿͒̾̃̇̐̀̌̅̈́͐̾̕̕̚͠ ̴̨̢̡̛̙̘̫͇͉͔͈͈̲͓̣̥̣̣̩̲̞̭̽́͌̓̇̌̅͋̍l̷̜̥͚̱̣̔e̶̢̨̦̻̪̰͇̜̰͙̖̯͊̃̿̏̂̈̇͜͠ä̸̧͈͙̭͓̗̯̭͚̼̳̻͎͓̤̺̳̬̤̪̓͊͋̔͛̿͒̏͋̐̅̐͑̚͜ṿ̶̢͚̙̲͇͈̟̺̼͓͑̽̈́̀̔͑̒̅̎̀̚͘ȩ̷̢̜͇̰͉̭̙͉̘̱̪͍̗̖̼̥̙̰̜̦̘͋̔͆͊͜ ̴̡̘̃̔̆́͌͆y̶̧̠͙̖̯͍͙̩̦͈̟̼̓̔̓̓͒̃̑͠ͅͅo̵̰͙̖̬̞̺̞͔͒͛̌̀̏̈́̊͛̊̓͋̕͠ŭ̴̡͕͔̙̊͋̿́̿́̑͗̃́̓̓̐͗͊͆̾̕͘̕͝͠ ̷̢̛̻̜̠͔̺̞͔̭̖̟̠̫̼̗̬̊̏̓̈́̒̐̓͌͑̈́̍͑̀͐̄̚͜͜ͅǎ̵̢̨̧͕̠̬͕͓̥̪̓͗͆̐͗͑͌̕l̸̛̛͉͒͊̿̈́̈́̄̓͗͋͗̇͒̔̈́͐͋͒̀͘l̶̘̠̭̖͍̑͑̓̋̉̈́̈̌͊͂̓̑͆̆͆͊̉͘̕ ̷̢̹̔͊͑̌͂͒̎̈́̉̓̀͘b̴̡̡̹̼̠̝̖̰̙̺͎̝͓̫̖̆͛̄͑̽͗̂̂͗͛͒̀͌̑̊̀̕̕͜͝e̴̡̨̖͎͈̞͈̼͎̱͖͖͕͎͚̘͔̪̲̮̝̘͐̊̄̃͒̈́̈́̔́̌͛̔̐͊̽͋̃̓̉̎͐͜͜͝͝h̵̡̧̛̖̠͓̻͓̝͖͓̯̎̎͌̊͗̓͆͋̈́̇̋̿̈́̃̈́̏̈̀̃͝͝ī̶̡̮͍̺͓̪͓̪͇̙͖̤̮̮̩͉͇̂̓͊̑̃̆̽͂̉̋̕̕͘͜ͅn̴̢̛̮̳̪͖̘̳̜̝̝̳̮̙̰͚͇͙̫͔̟͎̗͎̉͊́̂̀ͅd̸̡̛̞̗̤͕͙͚̘̠̮̥̳̈́̾̀ ̵̢̡̳̙͕̘̝̖̦͙̟̥̝̫̰͊̌͂̈͑̉̐̅̐́̏͗̾̓͗͜͝͝͠ͅa̴̜̦̪̝͇̅̽n̷̨̢̻̙̱̦̻͍̣̻̱̖̠̻̝̺̱̹͎͇̳͖̈́̓́̈́͛̆̇̀̐̀̈́̌̆̇͂̈́͜͝ͅḑ̷̛̛̈̔̈̓́́͋͗͗̾̀͛̒͒̓̌͑̂͊̕ ̵̢̛̟͚̻̜͖͚̟̤̝͙̏̎͊̊̑̀̌̿̃̕ͅḟ̴̡̛̛̻̬͇̠̣͓͇̰̝̫̼̥͔̭͈͚̹̺̼̠̆̂̓̀̇̈͒̅́́̅̀̍̾́́̿̚̚͝à̵̧̛̱͈̬̱̠̹͕̳̜̼̭͚̩͚̭̣͓̭̘̹̏̓̒̉́́́͌̾́͗͝c̸̢̡͉̺̳͔̟̱̠̬͔̜̲̭̼͈̦̺͇͚̟̞̝͗̅͊̋̐̂͐̔͗̿̕̚̚͘͠͝ͅę̷̨̡̡̫̩̤͚̪̖͖̹̬̳̼͈̤͕̮͉͎͈̻̓̐̂̋͆́̌̽̾̓̀͘͠͝ ̵̡̡̨̩͖͚̺̜͈͌̏̓̊̏̿̏̐̾͝t̷̨̮̘̑͘͠h̶̢̨̡̥̼̣̤̞͇͔̻̪̝̳̬͈͍͈̬͇̙̣̽͑̌͛̄̎̆͒͜e̸̳̍ ̴̧̣̹̘̯̞̼̫͈͍̿̾͗̈́̀̐̓̊͘͜t̵̡̮̤̙͚͖͖͎̤̮͙͓͎͇̭̤̯̰͈̗͖͕͒̂͒͑̓͘͜r̵̢̛̪͎̣̲͇͈̟̳̲̩̘̬̫̭̯̰̍̍̄̅̒̾͐̊͆̊͋͑̀͌̈̌̐̊̕̚̕͝u̵̯̯̓̓̒͌̕t̵̡̜͉̜͙̹̳̂͋̈́͘͝h̶̢̧̢̛̛̛͍̬͕̙̤̰̗̫̘͕̬̏̍͆́̅̉̈̒̾͆̀̃͝."

He calms and does not move from where he rests against Crowley's shoulder. He doesn't seem to realize what had just happened.

Crowley pulls into a roadside cafe a little too quickly. He almost clips the curb in his haste. He lifts his hips and tugs out his wallet. “I think I’m going to wait here. Be a lamb and get me something to drink?”

Ezra is pliant today. He takes the wallet and nods. They don’t really need to carry cash but it’s less conspicuous than pulling the exact amount of money you need out of your pocket by magic. He plants one of those sweet kisses to Crowley's cheek. “Coming right up.”

Crowley thunks his head against the steering wheel. He whispers along to the song. It's always given him anxiety. The Bentley won't let him change the track. “No... We will not let you go...” He laughs bitterly. “Bismillah...Bismillah-ir-Rahman-ir-Rahim.” He tips his head back to stare at the heavens. “Merciful and compassionate my ass.” He slams his head against the steering wheel this time. “I just... Want to see him one more time.”

* * *

"I hear you sometimes, you know, at night."

"Nnk?"

"...Talking to Her. Praying to her."

"It's a one-sided conversation, angel. An old habit that never died."

"I like to think She listens."

"I'm not drunk enough for this."

* * *

Ezra rocks on his heels as he waits for their order. He finds these small town cafes charming. There's an air of sleepy annoyance that hovers around the entire building. The fact that the entire system of coffee machines will go down when he walks out is just a bonus. The cashier should not have spent so much time staring at his eyes. She should not have let off a wave of disgust in the flavor of t̵̪̼̘̘͆̔̀á̷̛͖͈̌m̵̹͕̞̎͑͌͘a̷̝̲͝ͅͅĝ̸̝̠ö̷̥́y̸̤̙̲͕͛a̵̛̯͉͔͂̚͜k̴̤͐͑̄į̶̛̺̬̣͋.

He flicks Crowley’s expensive leather wallet open and closed absently. His Crowley was such a sweet thing. Always so helpful! Always willing to do whatever is asked of him! He relaxes more now and Ezra finds him staring off at least once a day if not more. It makes him feel warm inside that he can steady him like that. He doesn’t cry anymore either. His moods are much more stable. There’s no more of that nasty popping off at the mouth either. It was a shame he still clung to an angel who never seemed to come around.

He cocks his head as something white and black flies out of one of the compartments of the wallet. He snatches it up and realizes it is a photo. He can feel that it’s enchanted to never bend or fade. It should not have fit in the sleek leather wallet. He hates having his picture taken. He hates seeing himself. It makes his head hurt. He turns the photo around.

One of the glass percolator pots shatters. The cashier screams as boiling coffee and glass bite into her skin.

The usual twisting, blurred letters he sees slowly start to form together. October 29th.

A second pot explodes. The espresso machine starts to shoot burning hot steam from the nozzle. He stumbles out of the cafe as the refrigerator in the back room sparks a flame.

* * *

Demons saw their ugliness as a further rebellion against God and Her angels. They allowed boils to fester and flesh to melt. Scales were polished until they gleamed in the sick light of Hell. Demons cultivated the perfect layer of filth upon their skin. They used acid from the pits to mark their bodies. Animals sprouted from their bodies. Some lost their bodies altogether. They wandered the halls of Hell as amorphous things that left trails of vile liquid behind them. Few demons kept their beauty. That Crowley looked beautiful by human standards. In Hell he was disgusting.

Hastur had been beautiful once. He remembered it clearly now. Ligur had given him hair that shined every color of the sunset he loved to watch. His eyes shone like black gems. His skin had been pale and unmarred. His lips had been perfectly pink and plump. His wings were carefully groomed and slowly became lined with gems formed by Ligur’s hands. He had called him beautiful then.

In Hell he watched his body morph into something that was too tall and too gaunt. He lost his sunset hair and found it replaced with an amphibian. He was quite fond of his frog, truth be told, but it did not create beauty. He had forced himself to forget what things were like before. Something compelled him to forget. Ligur had found him hidden away from the noise and overwhelming sensations of the pits. He had stroked his cheeks not caring about the green pustules that grew there or the thick, black blood that oozed from where he ripped into his own flesh. He had smiled and called him beautiful.

The language of Hell changed. To call your fellow demon lovely would no doubt result in a fistfight. Beautiful was replaced with disgusting or abhorrent or wretched. Nice was a four letter word and bad became good and good became bad. Ligur always called him the vilest, most disgusting thing he’d ever seen.

“You owe me, wank wings. I know Ligur fed you information. Got proof of it. Shoulda knew better than to trust a demon.” He snarled into the phone. How it had survived the absolute destruction of his residence was ineffable.

“You know what you’re asking for? You know what will happen?” Her voice was saccharine and made his teeth ache.

“Meet me in an hour. The old spot.”

She was silent for several beats. “Fine. If you’re late I’m leaving.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Crowley is quoting Blade Runner which is quoting Lao Tzu. 
> 
> Bismillah is a shortened version of Bismillah-ir-Rahman-ir-Rahimwhich means in the name of God, the merciful and compassionate.


	14. Chapter 14

Crowley’s head jerks toward the cafe when he feels the sudden surge of demonic energy. He is already running toward the door when Ezra stumbles out. He falls to his knees with something clutched in his hand. From inside the cafe come screams. Crowley snaps and snaps but they did not abate. Hellfire is persistent. Hellfire is hungry.

“Let’s go. Ezra. Get up.” He yanks and manages to get Ezra to his feet. He wraps an arm around him and practically drags him to the car. He was fully conscious but completely unresponsive. “Shit shit shit!” Crowley slams his fists against the steering wheel before the Bentley tears down the road.

Ezra holds whatever is in his hand a little tighter. The Bentley chose music again.

“Love of my life... Don’t leave me.” It’s not just Freddie singing. Ezra slumps against the passenger door and whispers along with the song. His eyes are far away. His words are clear.

Crowley nearly slams the car into a tree.

* * *

“Found it last night.”  
“That’s... I’m very sorry for your loss.”

There is no beverage passed between them for consumption. They stand together watching couples and families and friends skate around the rink. Beelzebub takes Gabriel’s hand and holds it tight.

“We don’t know where he got it from. Surveillance showzzz him going up and coming back with a vial of it. Earth Observation Recordzzz for him are all static.”  
“Just a vial? Surely that isn’t enough to.... to kill you?”

Beelzebub buzzes for a moment. “We think he drank it. There’zzz no surviving that.”  
“Do you remember him from before? Hastur... I don’t remember his name anymore. He reported to me. He was a watcher. Hung around the wrong crowd....Uh...You know what I mean.”  
“I don’t remember them. Choirzzz rarely separated, you know that. He and Ligur didn’t hold a high enough place in the rebellion for me to have known them.” They buzz low. “They were good at being evil. Ruthlezzz and pragmatic. Right bastardzzz.”  
“You were fond of them?”  
“Azzz much azzz we can be, yeah. I knew I could rely on them.”

Gabriel wraps his arm around their shoulder. Beelzebub slides an arm around Gabriel’s waist.  
The Archangel breaks the silence first. "We had...Two go recently. Threw themselves into Hellfire. We don't know where it came from either."  
"Wazzz common after the War..." They buzz. "Some of the Fallen couldn't take it."  
"Same for us. We performed a lot of memory wipes to curb the wave of..." He trails off. "I don't know why it's happening again."

They fall into silence again.

“What happenzzz when we die, Gabriel? When we really die?”  
The Archangel considers the question. He plants his chin on top of Beelzebub’s head. Their fly gives a sleepy buzz. “I think... We go back to Her. To the Before.” He presses a kiss to their temple.  
“I hope we never find out.” They whisper. “I can’t lose my best friend again.”  
Gabriel grins dopey and wide and kisses Beelzebub’s cheeks until they threaten to light him on fire.

* * *

“Ezra. Ezra! Focus on me! Please! For the love of Someone just look at me!”

Ezra is vaguely aware that someone is shaking him roughly. He focuses his vision with several slow blinks. Crowley is crouched just outside the passenger side of the Bentley. He is panicked and his sunglasses have fallen into the dirt to reveal wet eyes.

“Crowley...”  
“Oh thank Someone. What happened? Are you okay?”

Ezra takes his time in answering. His head hurts. Slowly he holds out the photo crushed in his hand. It miraculously uncrumples as he drops into Crowley’s hand. In the snapshot of the past, Crowley looks happy in a way Ezra has never seen. He's caught in a wide laugh. He's pulling a white-haired man into the rain. There's fond indignation gracing his gentle features. “Is that me?” He whispers.

Crowley’s lip wobbles. He’s grown afraid of his own tears. Aziraphale hates to see him cry. Ezra insults him for it. “No. This isn’t you.” He presses the Polaroid to his mouth as if he could get one last kiss. “He’s gone. He’ll be gone for... Forever. He's what you used to be.”

“You loved him.”  
An uncontrolled sob breaks free from Crowley’s throat. “He is the center of my universe.” It's not a past tense.

Slowly Ezra leads Crowley to rest his head in his lap. He strokes through his perfectly styled hair using his blunt, black nails. "Shh... You know I hate to see you cry..." He doesn't force him to stop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ngl I think Bee and Gabriel are a sort of lovers who realized they're better as friends sort of thing. It's not particularly relevant to the story though


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is super long. I thought about splitting it but I didn't quite know where

The war in Heaven had started, as it ended, with the sounding of a great horn.

Humans had come up with some silly rules about war. You could commit a war crime if you killed someone the wrong way. You would then be punished by being killed. Crowley had never understood that logic. Heaven had no such rules. The War had been fought with dirty tricks and no remorse.

Eve had been born of Adam on what was probably the sixth day. Time didn't really mean anything yet. Perhaps it had been a thousand years. Perhaps it had been seconds. In hindsight, it had not been enough time.

The horn sounded and the angels on Earth felt compelled the rise back up to Heaven. The angels in the stars flew back to their home without a second thought. Michael struck the first blow. Her sword sparked and flashed blinding light against the spear of Lucifer. Brothers and sisters stared in horror. Many wept. Many took up arms.

The Rebels had been ready to fight. They copied the swords and spears the angels stationed in Eden carried. The sky painters ripped stars from the sky to burn the Loyal. The planet builders brought down their creations and crushed any who found themselves unable to flee be they friend or foe. Rebellious Archangels turned their holy powers into something twisted. Healing light ripped wings from the backs of the Loyal. Choirs turned their voices from soothing songs of Her love to deafening screeches. They fought because they loved Her.

The Loyal were graced with holy weapons and armor by the Archangels. They felt rage in their hearts for the first time and they showed no mercy. The ripped the Being from their siblings. They pinned them to the ground and severed their wings. They fought because they loved Her.

Some of the Rebels tried to hide. Rebels who did not wish to harm were struck down despite their pleading. Rebels who had wanted answers. None were safe.

In the Garden Adam and Eve were happy.

Crowley had been right about the cherubim. He had watched their training under the tutelage of Michael. Each carried a holy weapon and each exuded an aura of danger. He had seen one up close only once. He had secretly landed in the garden to release stars among the trees in the form of small, glowing insects. The white-haired cherub had peered down at him with eyes glowing and sword raised...And then he had smiled. He turned his back and pointedly looked out into the endless desert as Crowley flew back into the stars. The cherub would not recognize him once he had Fallen and Crowley hadn't been able to place how he knew this angel's face.

The cherubim fought with no hint of mercy...Except for the white-haired one who had smiled at his fireflies and perked up whenever an angel passed the garden. No one spoke to him. The cherubim were feared before fear existed.

"Brother! You will not harm them!" His voice booms and warps as if it were made of many. The white-haired angel is smeared with golden blood. The flaming sword he carries drips flames that scorch the heavenly ground. His many wings shelter a group of terrified Rebels as if they are his brood.  
"They have forsaken Her! They deserve death!" The other cherub brandishes a great spear of pure golden light that matches his long, blood matted hair.  
"They have no weapons. You feel the love in their hearts. You feel their ḟ̵̩̲̪̖̓̂ȅ̷̗͈̳̻̚á̸͓̺̼̼̒r̸̺͉̿. We don’t need to kill!" They did not know this word and yet they all feel its meaning.  
"You are a fool, Aziraphale."

Aziraphale. Crowley pants hard from under the great white wings. He holds a sword that had been shattered with a single blow of the cherub's spear. The Fallen could not create weapons to match the Loyal.

The wings lift and he weakly holds the sword before him as if he could take on the glowing cherub. He spits golden blood that seeps into his mouth from the gash along the side of his head. He did not want to fight. He only ever wanted answers. The angels behind him cower and whimper as the sword suddenly flies from his grasp with a simple wave of the cherub's hand.  
"Do not lift another weapon and you will be safe." A single beat of his great wings propels him into the air.

Michael presses her spear against the neck of the Betrayer. A cherub plummets to the ground. The great horn sounds.

* * *

After six thousand years of denying each other, some habits die hard. They do not fall into a perfect romantic relationship right away. It takes time to learn this new part of each other and will take many more years. A year certainly hasn't been long enough.

"You'll go with me, won't you?" Crowley's voice is filled with hope as he holds up a magazine opened to the last page. He wiggles his eyebrows as Aziraphale reads over the advertisement for a vintage car show.  
"I..." The angel trails off as he tries to come up with an answer. "I don't think it is something I would enjoy, darling. Why don't you go and have fun?"

Crowley's face drops. "Oh..." The magazine ends up drooping at his side by one hand. "We could make a weekend of it. Birmingham has a huge library. It's supposed to have a copy of the First Folio... There's a botanical garden and a zoo with a reptile exhibit that's supposed to be amazing and the symphony is playing Mozart's Requiem the night before the car show..." He trails off when he realizes Aziraphale has already returned to his inventory list. He feels familiar rejection fill his stomach.

"...That how it is then?"  
"Darling I am quite busy. I have given you my answer."

Crowley throws the magazine onto the nearby sofa. He doesn't care that it bends and folds. "Aziraphale."  
"Darling, please."  
"No. Look at me."

Silence.

"Look at me! Stop pretending you can't hear me."

Aziraphale snaps his book shut. He sits up and removes his unneeded reading glasses. He turns his attention to Crowley with a scowl. "You will not take that tone with me." He snaps.  
"Seems to be the only one to make you listen!" Crowley's eyes are wide and yellow. He's angry, yes, but mostly hurt.

The angel stands and folds his hands behind his back. "I will not speak to you when you're like this." He tries to walk away but Crowley grabs his forearm. Aziraphale could easily push him away but he seems to be too shocked to move.

"You aren't walking away from this. Stop acting like I don't exist!"  
"Crowley."  
"No! I do everything for you! Do you think I enjoy those stupid antique markets? Watching Hamlet for the eighteenth time? Going to yet another rendition of Schubert? Do you know how bored I get?" He lets go of the angel's arm. His mouth twists and he tilts his head down to stare at their feet.  
"I don't make you go to any of those things, Crowley." Aziraphale's voice is hard. "You choose to accompany me. You have no right to complain."

"...I go because I want to spend time with you. It makes you happy." He steps back and jerks his body out of Aziraphale's reach when the angel goes to grab him. "Don't touch me."  
"Crowley I didn't..."  
"I wanted to show you something I like for once. I know you don't care about cars or plants or animals, yeah? I just... I wanted to spend time with you doing things we both enjoy." Aziraphale goes to touch him again and he takes a second step back. He knows he's being too sensitive. It has been a stupid idea. Why wouldn't Aziraphale reject him?  
"I'm going for a walk."

Aziraphale follows him to the door. Crowley shoves his jacket on and forces his feet into his shoes. "Crowley...Please..."  
"I said I'm going for a walk!" Crowley snaps his sunglasses on.  
"At least... Don't leave like this." The angel looks... Well, Crowley isn't sure what that look is. "I love you, darling." He holds out Crowley's mobile. He'd left it on the sofa.  
He growls and yanks his hand through his hair. He grabs the phone and shoves it in his pocket. "I love you too." He leaves and the door slams behind him.

He gets a message sometime around 3 in the morning.  
"Don't stay out much longer. I left the light on for you. xo"

His feet lead him home not long after. His jacket and shoes get tossed somewhere near the coatrack and land perfectly in place. He yanks off his shirt and pops the button on his jeans before throwing himself onto the sofa. He snaps his finger and the lamp that had been lighting up the bookshop turns off. He sleeps but it's the restless kind of sleep that leaves him with a throbbing headache upon waking several hours later.

He sits up when he hears soft footsteps and smells strong coffee. Aziraphale holds out Crowley's favorite mug. It's decorated with little succulent and declares "Stay At Home Plant Mom." The angel looks properly ashamed but his weak smile is hopeful. "I would like to apologize. I didn't realize that I was... putting myself before you. I've been taking advantage of your kindness. I'm sorry."

Crowley takes the mug and sniffs the coffee. There's too much milk but Aziraphale always tries his best. He takes a sip. The fact that the drink is boiling hot doesn't phase him. "Yeah...Well..." He averts his eyes. Aziraphale hesitantly smooths Crowley's hair down. "The London Zoo is having a special reptile day tomorrow. I thought we could go. You know I love to watch the birds and you can argue with the snakes."

He's still hurt but it will fade. Aziraphale is making an effort for what feels like the first time. "I... That sounds like a nice time." His angel smiles a little more confidently and plants a kiss onto his forehead. "I'll buy the tickets right away!"

* * *

Gabriel pauses to straighten his perfectly tied tie and brush nonexistent lint from his shoulder. He knocks firmly on the office door and plasters a smile on his face.

"Come in."

Michael's office is situated so it gets the most heavenly light. She glows a little more than usual in it. She glances up from the report in her hand and then gestures for Gabriel to sit. Gabriel is the face of Heaven, but Michael is the great general. They hold the same rank but she has always been the one in charge.

"Michael! I like what you've done to the place!" Her office was barren except for one of those solar dancer toys. It was a crab that wiggled its claws in the glow of Heaven. Gabriel had picked it up for her on his last trip to Earth.

She smiles like a fond, if exasperated, big sister. "Is there something I can help you with, Gabriel?"

The big angel pats his knees. "Well, I had some questions about Aziraphale."  
"We don't question the Almighty." Her voice is a little too sharp for Gabriel's liking. Beelzebub teased him that he always seemed to want everyone to like him at all times.  
"Oh no! I'm not questioning Her! I'm sure there's a perfectly good reason he...." He points down and mouths, "Fell."  
"Then what is there to question?” She links her fingers together and props her chin on them. "He is Fallen. He's finally out of our hair."  
"Yes, well...I just... Can't think of a reason for him to...go down there." He doesn't like saying it.

Michael sighs and closes her eyes. "He thwarted the Great Plan, Gabriel. He questioned Her. He was in league with a demon. Need I go on?"  
"But... What if the Great Plan was meant to be thwarted?" Gabriel smiles wide as if his fellow Archangel isn't scowling.

"You, Gabriel, have been spending too much time with that demon. Do you want to follow that bumbling fool? You know you'll forget all your memories. You'll forget Beelzebub. You'll be another," she curls her mouth in distaste, "demon."  
Gabriel furrows his brows and focuses on the wiggling crab. "What if they don't forget? When they go down? "

Michael stands and walks around her desk. She sets a delicate hand on Gabriel's shoulder. "Don't be foolish, brother. She would show them no kindness." She squeezes gently. "I think you should avoid visiting Earth for a time. We wouldn't want anyone getting any ideas about you and the fly." 

* * *

The drive back to Soho is silent. The Bentley plays no music and the demonic pair does not speak.

Ezra steps into the bookshop with Crowley hot on his heels. The serpent had been especially quiet and his whole body thrummed with anxiety. Ezra sits on the sofa and a single look has Crowley sitting next to him. He sits up a little straighter than usual so that their bodies don't meet.

"Why didn't you tell me, Crowley?" He hears Crowley's breathing picking up and his wide vision allows him to see fingers wth chipped, black nail polish grip bony knees. "Why did you hide it?"

A shaky breath. Another squeeze. "When...Nnk... When... Fuck!" He hunches forward to hide his face between his knees. Ezra does not hesitate to gently rub down Crowley's too-may vertebrae. "Take your time."

"You forgot me."  
"That's what happens, Crowley. You know that. You're one of the Fallen."  
"Not something you forget." He tosses his sunglasses away and they shatter against a bookshelf. Normally they appear perfectly on the table so Ezra finds himself confused.

"Demons do not forget being angels unless they want to." Crowley looks at him. He looks...Broken. The vision jolts something hot down Ezra's spine. He's never seen this before. "The Archangels made up the lie after the War to make their lot more afraid. Makes them obedient. When you Fall... There's a rush of everything you've witnessed. Humans say their life flashes before their eyes before they die. Same with us I guess. You can choose, at that moment, if you want to remember."

"You're being foolish, Crowley." He can't taste the lie. He's never tasted a lie on Crowley. "She takes Her grace and She takes our memories. It's part of the punishment."  
Crowley's mouth contorts like he's going to cry. He's too sensitive to be a demon. "The real punishment is remembering. I remember it all, Ezra. From my Creation to my Fall. I remember watching him train and smile and fight. I remember the other Fallen as they were as angels. I watched them rot and lose themselves. That is true punishment. The lucky ones forget. They manage to flip the switch when we Fall. You chose to forget me. You chose to forget yourself." He hiccups out an ugly sob finally. "I did what I thought he wanted."

* * *

They survived their trials, or what passed for trials in the lands above and below. They sat together, knees touching, during their meal at the Ritz. They walked, shoulders brushing, in the light rain that somehow did not fall upon them. Crowley had flashed him that bastard smile when he'd questioned it.

Aziraphale had stood in front of the bookshop door unmoving. He couldn't bring himself to turn and take the handle in his hand. The light of the moon glimmered over the puddles like stars. Crowley stood with his hands in his pockets. His eyes were bared to the world instead of hidden by sunglasses.

"Well...Goodnight, angel." There was a sadness there that Aziraphale was far too familiar with. He started to take a step back but was stopped by a hand on his arm.  
"I... That is to say..." The angel smiled that smile that made his mouth curl into a heart. "Stay." He had leaned up and kissed the demon chastely.

There was no sudden rush of lust. They did not grope and grasp at each other. They do not stumble up to the bedroom or fall writhing onto the sofa . Instead, Aziraphale feels his love finally, finally release from where he's kept it locked away all these years. Crowley has never hidden his away.

Hands with torn fingernails had cupped his cheeks as if he were the finest crystal. He placed his own perfectly manicured hands over them.   
"Come inside, my dear?"

Crowley's jacket ended up next to his on the coatrack. Black snakeskin boots sat net to his well-worn balmorals. His waistcoat was carefully folded and his bowtie was carefully placed next to the other's grey scarf and snakehead belt. Crowley poured them both a glass of wine as Aziraphale untucked his shirt and rolled up his sleeves.

They settled together, for the first time, on the worn sofa with their knees touching and their shoulders pressed together. Crowley's arm draped over his shoulders and pulled him in just a little closer.

After the first glass, they didn't pour a second. They sat together in the absolute silence of the bookshop for so long. Then, as if on a whim Crowley snapped his fingers. The old gramophone sprang to life. A woman's voice crooned some song the machine should not have been able to play.

The demon had ever so slowly extracted himself from Aziraphale's side. He was afraid and it showed clearly on his face "Dance with me?"  
"Angels don't dance." Aziraphale swallowed his own fear.  
"Never got the hang of it, but it's never stopped me."

They pressed together, hands in not quite the right places, and rocked together. His demon whispered the words in his ears with a voice thick with six thousand years of emotion. "Whenever you're in trouble, won't you stand by me?"

They danced, cheek to cheek, and reveled in the warmth. When the song ended they went upstairs and slept curled together for the first time.

  
The bed was soft and the sheets were softer. Crowley didn't like the tartan pattern, but he enjoyed the feel of the cotton. The duvet is plain. The bed smells of expensive colognes and angelic ozone mixed with a hint of sulfur. The bedroom is bathed in the blue-gold light of the early morning sun. Soho isn't awake yet.

"You are a gorgeous sight to wake up to." Aziraphale gently stroked the snake that adorns the side of Crowley's face.   
The demon's reptilian eyes barely opened. He's spread over Aziraphale's bare chest. His long fingers do not fidget where they rest on soft skin. He doesn't sway or squirm. He just lays with a sleepy half-smile and blotchy pink blush gracing his face. "Was that a dream or was it true?"

"Not a dream, darling. Not a dream."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They dance to Stand by Me as sung by Florence and the Machine.  
> A. It makes me cry because FFXV ruined my life  
> B. I think it's a little more swayable than the original  
> C. I dare you to listen to Stand by Me and A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square on repeat and not cry like a baby


	16. Chapter 16

"No!"  
"Oh yes. Thirty years tomorrow. Unofficially of course what with the whole... legal aspect of things. D'you know the blasted paper costs almost 200 quid?"

Aziraphale smiles at the nice young waiter with the multicolor locs. Under the table, he squeezes Crowley's hand hard enough to make the demon's boyish smile briefly twitch.

"You don't look a day over forty!"  
"Flirting with me in front of my husband?"  
"N-No, sir! I was--"

The waiter sputters and frets until Aziraphale places a soothing hand on his forearm. "He's just having you on, dear boy."  
"You ruined my fun early, angel," Crowley grumbles. "You're lucky I only have eyes for you." He throws him a wink from under his sunglasses. He turns his attention back to the waiter. "Be a lad and bring us whatever you think is worth drinking."

When he's gone Aziraphale turns his attention fully to the being sitting next to him. "Anthony J. Crowley."  
"Don't use the whole thing..."  
"Why would you tell that young man such a story? We are not married and it is not our anniversary."

Crowley taps his fingers against the table. It's not the most upscale restaurant they've ever visited but Soho was filled with eclectic little places like this. He spreads his legs as he stretches them out as far as he can without tripping anyone. He knows better than to trip a server in Aziraphale's presence.

"I know that... But it is sort of our anniversary." He's mumbling and staring at a weird, modern art piece hanging on the wall.  
"I'm afraid I don't follow."  
The demon huffs and squirms slightly. "The Earth was formed October 21st...Around 9 in the morning, I think."  
Aziraphale nods. "Today is October 28th. I don't see the relevance." He knows Crowley has a particular way of seeing the world so really he shouldn't be shocked.  
"We met on the 7th day." He still stares at the art piece. For a place that claims to do English classics "right" it certainly has an interesting choice of interior design.

"October 29th... Oh, Crowley, you're such a softie." He coos. The demon briefly tries to evade the affection coming his way but he's caught by a gentle hand on the side of his head. Then he's attacked by a kiss to the temple. He scowls and crosses his arms.  
"I am not soft...I can just do maths." He curls his fingers into Aziraphale's offered hand. The angel his to bite back a smile grin. He settles on a simple, angelic smile.

"It's sweet, my love. I am happy to call tomorrow our anniversary." It makes his heart swell. The love for Crowley's he's always hidden rolls off of him in waves. Across the restaurant, a couple on their first date suddenly find themselves less nervous and a couple who can't seem to find anything to say to each other anymore suddenly find a hundred more things they want to say.  
Crowley groans. "You're going to give me hives again, angel. Stop."  
"I liked rubbing cream on you... I do wonder why did you say thirty years?"  
Crowley rolls his eyes. "Can't tell the boy we've known each other for six thousand something years... And my driver's license says I'm fifty. I thought twenty seemed like a good age to get married."  
Aziraphale really, really should know by now that Crowley does not think like anyone else. "Why do you have a driver's license?"  
"You can't rightly drive without one, angel. Cars won't work otherwise."  
"...Of course, pet."

"You will not kiss me with vinegar breath." Crowley brandishes his spoon like a weapon. Aziraphale had to say the steak pie was wonderful. He did have the bad habit of adding malt vinegar to nearly all fried foods.  
"Come now. You'll kiss me after dessert." He makes a silly, scrunched kissy face.  
He jumps a little when their nice waiter appears. He sets a slice of fruit cake on the table with a somewhat shy smile. "It's been nice to see a couple like...you... happy together after such a long time together." He leaves before the couple can really react.

"...Marriage gets you cake?" Aziraphale whispers.  
Crowley taps his spoon against his empty coffee cup and it refills itself. "Suppose so."

They walk home hand in hand as has become their norm. The restaurant wasn't so far from the bookshop and the weather is just right for an evening walk. The cake had been lovely. He'd even managed to get Crowley to take a little bite. His snake did not like eating but he knew he would indulge him. They'd left a sizeable tip for the waiter and Aziraphale maybe sent a subtle sign from above to the bartender to finally ask him out. It was not a temptation, thank you very much.

Aziraphale stops them at the entrance of the bookshop. "D'you wanna keep walking?" His demon looks confused.  
He shakes his head. It takes his curls a full ten seconds to stop bouncing. "No. I just think... Well... Did you want to get married?"

Oh, poor thing. He knows the demon is sensitive. It's best to slowly lead him into these things. Aziraphale accused him of going too fast all those years ago. He was just trying to catch up now.

"Nnk...Nng...Hnng?" Crowley looks a little weak in the knees and red from the tips of his ears to the peek of his chest from the top of his shirt.  
Aziraphale removes the golden, angel wing pinkie ring he's always worn. He's had it since his days on the garden wall. Michael had gifted it to him as a sort of medal of honor. It used to be a reminder of who and what he was meant to be... But now they were on their own side.

Miraculously the ring fits perfectly onto Crowley's finger. He strokes his stunned face, just behind the ear, and produces an identical ring. "Well? Won't you marry me?" He offers it to him. His face feels hot and his hand shakes something awful.  
Crowley swallows audibly. He bites his lip and nods. The second ring slides onto Aziraphale's finger and seconds later he finds warm hands pull him close and kissing him fiercely. "Bed."

Aziraphale does not pass up the chance to consummate their marriage.

* * *

Ezra isn't quite sure what to do. Crowley always stopped crying when he told him to, but his mouth won't form the words. Has he always sounded this hurt?

A flash of heat.  
The sound of crying.  
The taste of sulfur.

He shakes his head clear. "You can't know that, Crowley. Maybe you're just different. You're not very good at being a demon. It could just be a side effect." It doesn't seem to help the situation but he can't think of anything truly n̸͓̜͕͑̂̎i̵̙̹̬̊́c̴̻̽͌̅ͅë̷̩̤̈́͜ to say.  
"Beelzebub could tell you." He sits back hard and his back cracks loudly when he hits the back of the sofa. He winces briefly. "Fucking spine..." He covers his face with his hands. His poor nails. He's picked them half to death. "Ask them if you don't believe me. Dagon too. Most of the high ranking demons have at least part of their memories. No one talks about it. It's rude."

Ezra takes Crowley's hands from his face and holds them gingerly. The pain he senses fills his mouth with the taste of c̵͉̃ǔ̴̻r̸͖̍͘d̶͓̝̒ľ̵̝̀ḛ̸͋͒d̷̛̫̝̈́ ̸͍̌̃m̷̧̔i̶̛͉̠̐l̸̲̋͘k̴̬͋͜. He feels uncomfortably bloated from it. "Stop crying...please?" He quirks his mouth in a failed attempt to smile. He runs his thumbs over the bitten nails and red cuticles. They heal slowly and a new layer of shiny, black varnish covers the nails. "I think I want to understand more."

Crowley's lip wobbles. He stops crying. Fear. Crowley's fear doesn't taste like d̴͓̆ò̵̳ü̶͇b̵͓̆l̶̟̑e̶̟͑ ̵̧̈́b̷͔̚ẽ̸̼r̴̢͒g̵͖̈́a̸̙̓m̸͇̀ọ̸t̸̡̎ ̸̖̈e̶̠̅a̶̝͘ṟ̶̀l̷͔̆ ̵̠̐g̷̳̿r̷͚̊e̵̼̓y̶̱͛ . He smacks his mouth and scrunches his nose. It tastes like a moldy p̸̰͐é̴͔͝a̴̯̙̔̈́r̵̭̎̈́. He tries to run his fingers over Crowley's ring. The serpent pulls his hand away so quickly that he nearly hits himself in the face. Ezra doubles over and vomits stomach bile from the sudden, disgusting taste of Crowley's absolute and all consuming terror. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeet me into the street
> 
> Also, that was 100% their first time doing the full nasty. Crowley cried during. Aziraphale cried after.


	17. Chapter 17

They wait for an hour.  
Maybe he’s just late. Bit of an airhead, that one.

Then two.  
It is cold out. He doesn’t like the cold.

Three.  
He’s not coming. Of course... He’s not coming.

  
“Lord Beelzebub! You’re back sooner than expected. I’m afraid we haven’t finished the repairs on your office yet.” The Disposable Demon, Beelzebub thinks his name is actually Paul but there are so many of him that no one bothers to keep it straight, practically chases after them. There are two other of him trotting behind in a straight line.

“Shut it!” They snap. Their fly buzzes and flaps its wings. The flies around their head grow in number and grow in volume as they buzz.  
Disposal Demon squeaks and comes to a sudden halt. He bumps into himself in a series of "oofs." “Apologies, Lord Beelzebub.”  
“I said shut it!”

  
The first of the three screams as flies force their way into his mouth and his eyes and his nose. He is eaten away until nothing is left but his clipboard. One of the other ones picks it up and they both bow out of the way.

Beelzebub barges into Dagon’s office. “Out. Out!” The various assistant demons flee leaving only the Lord of the Flies and the Lord of the Files. “Form M3N4C3.”  
“We don’t use that anymore, Beelzebub. The Agreement...”  
“Fuck the Agreement. Give me the form, Dagon.”  
“... Of course.”

* * *

“You wanna get lunch?” Crowley leans against one of the new bookshelves. He seemed content enough with the changes. He had even moved the Bibles to their new glass display without a single complaint. Ezra found he liked having the books around even if he couldn't put them to their intended use. They were his and he did not intend to allow anyone else to take them... But they did need organizing. He sniffs the book in his hand as he looks up at Crowley. He’s been on Earth for two days and it has been a bit boring. Crowley has been practically hovering around him. A black bruise compliments the paleness of his neck. He’s been very sweet and helpful since Ezra told him how much he was hurting him. He did not like to be ignored.

“Lunch?” He repeats. He sniffs the book in his hand and feels the edges. He sets it in one of the neat stacks in front of him. He picks up another and sniffs it too. “... I haven’t tried eating yet. You don’t eat.” Crowley shrugs. “Never took a liking to it. It’s too much work. You could try it? There’s a cafe on the corner. The coffee is good.”

Ezra gives the book a little lick and then sets it in the right pile. He likes coffee. Tea was okay and he had not liked hot cocoa at all. “Sounds lovely.” He gets up and dusts his hands off on his slacks. The grey-white marks disappear with a snap of Crowley’s finger. He helps Ezra into his coat and uses his fingertips to push wayward curls into place. He had been right about using the right product in it. "You have gorgeous cheekbones.” Ezra runs a thumb over one of them. Crowley was so lovely to look at. He finds something fond crawling around in his chest, but it just feels like a case of gas. He wiggles a little to get rid of it.  
Crowley’s smile twitches. He passes on his usual jacket. He snaps and grabs the neck of his plain black T-shirt. He pulls and the entire garment morphs longer and longer into a turtleneck. He sniffs and smooths out the fabric. 

  
Ezra takes his hand and they leave the bookshop. He hasn’t left since his arrival on Earth. His mind had been focused on the books and the clutter. “Everything is so...” He licks his lips. Cars stop when they step into the road and people somehow just barely avoid bumping into the pair.  
“It gets overwhelming.” Crowley removes his hand from Ezra’s and sets it on his lower back just between the vent of his suit coat. “The smells are the worst thing for me. You get used to it.”  
Ezra nods mutely. His eyes give him near 360 degree vision. It’s hard to see so much movement all at once. Hell had been easy. It had been dark and the hallways packed into a slow shuffle of bodies.

There is a table conveniently empty just outside the packed cafe. Crowley leaves him there as he goes inside. There’s something written on a chalkboard out front. The intricate filigree mixes with the swirl of letters. Ezra blinks several times to try and will the headache inducing vision away. He snaps his finger first up and down. He rolls his eyes and properly snaps down and up. A pretty patron passing with her freshly poured coffee trips over a new crack in the sidewalk. She yelps as her drink splashed against the chalk and her lovely white blouse.

The wave of annoyance she emits forces Ezra to bite his lip to keep from laughing. It tastes of f̴̭̞̹̮̾r̸̢̭͍̅̑̋ͅë̸̮̙̱́̚͜ŝ̷̠̦̹̾̋ͅh̴͈͑ ̸̰͚̅͆̓̄͠c̷͍̣̲̻̈́͐h̸̀̓̈͆͜ï̸͉̝ṕ̴̳͋̿s̶̨͙̔̄ ̸͎̉͋̔a̴̭̠͑ͅñ̵̢̰͓̥͖̈́̋d̸̨͉͚͇͉̐̽͆͝ ̶͉̙̬̘̌̎͝m̴̖̣̅a̸̡͗l̸̢̝̤̳͛͜ẗ̸̮͖̲̀̾͑̀ ̸͈̘̹̓̏́̈́̚͜v̷̛̻̗͎̝̦̈́͐̽ị̵̖̗̲̜̈́̊n̵͙͖̜̮̈̒͜ȅ̸̠͓̟̓͂͛̆g̵̬̩͒́̏͋ą̶̻̓͌̎ŕ̸̡͚͗͑͝ͅ and it’s the best thing he’s tasted so far.

Crowley returns long after the woman has sped off. In her haste, she had bumped into another human and nearly fell into the road. Unluckily the car had stopped just in time. The sheer amount of feelings had been almost overwhelming.

“What’s got you smiling?” Crowley sits next to him so he can spread out while watching the foot traffic.  
“Humans. They’re quite foolish.” Ezra let’s out a content sigh. He closes his eyes for a moment before they snap open and focus on what Crowley has brought him. There are two lattes. They both have ducks decorating the foam.  
“... Ducks?”  
“Long story, lamb.”

There is a small plate of biscuits that all look the same except for the color of the jam piled onto their centers. Crowley grabs one and somehow manages to fit the entire thing into his mouth when he most certainly should not have been able to.  
“S’only thing I could eat a plate of.” He explains.

Ezra picks one up and sniffs it.Ȓ̸͎͗͌̒â̸͇̫̱͛͒̔s̵͎̀̾p̴̭̻̣̃̑b̴͓͉̪̙̐́̒̋ͅe̴͇̼̞͇͗r̵̻̜̔̅͘r̶͚̳̈́̎͆y̸̡̪̠̜̼̏̐͌̌̓̓. He hesitates and bites it in half. His mouth curls almost immediately and he shakes his head wildly. “Mmmph!” He looks to Crowley for desperate help. "Mmmph!" The serpent jumps. He grabs a napkin and presses it to Ezra’s mouth so he can spit out the offending treat. “Ezra? What’s wrong? Can’t be that bad, eh?”  
He coughs hard and shakes his head. He opens his mouth and Crowley visibly flinches at the angry red burn forming blisters on tender skin.

* * *

  
Crowley’s hand rubs circles over his back as he gags up another round of bile. “Deep breaths. It stops the spasms.” His voice is cracked and weak but soothing.

Ezra pants. They don’t need to breathe or eat or sleep but their stupid human bodies still react in stupid human ways. A soft tissue is pressed upon his mouth before his hand is even halfway to wiping it. Crowley is gentle as he wipes away the spit and vomit. The tissue stays perfectly clean as he wipes his nose where the acid had leaked through his sinuses. Finally, he wipes the unbidden tears from his eyes.

Ezra searches his pained face desperately. He’s not sure what he’s looking for but he can’t find it. “I’m hurting you.” A snap. A cold glass of water is pushed into his shaking hands.

  
“Drink. You’ll feel better than if you just miracle it away.”  
“Crowley.”  
“Just leave. Just... Just for a moment. Give me that kindness.”

* * *

"You cry so easily, pretty thing. Been hiding it all these years, hm?"  
Crowley stammers and huffs. "I do not!" He leans into the handkerchief wiping his cheeks despite his protest. "I cry the proper amount for the occasion. Humans do it. We're meant to blend it. It's part of the tempting."  
"Ah yes. Splotchy cheeks and a runny nose. Very tempting, my beloved crybaby."

Crowley sniffles and moves away from the gentle touches. Aziraphale blinks wide at him. He waved the handkerchief comically though Crowley can't find a smile to match the motion. "Do not call me that. Cry babies do not survive in Hell. I'm allowed to have emotions! Feelings! Don't ever—" He realizes it's an overreaction the moment it comes out of his mouth, but demons don't really like to say they're sorry. There are things ingrained in them that will take years, centuries perhaps, for them to push into the background. He stops himself. "Just don't."

Aziraphale searches his face and then smiles gently. Crowley feels every muscle relax and he goes boneless against the angel. "I apologize, love. But, please remember you aren't in Hell anymore. It breaks my heart to see you cry. I simply can't stand it... Even if it's over a fictitious dog."

"You were supposed to look up what happens to the dog beforehand."  
"It slipped my mind."  
"You always look it up."  
"Goodness you are so sensitive!"  
"I'm going to blow my nose on your pajamas."  
"Anthony J. Crowley!"

* * *

“You do know what you’re asking, don’t you?”  
“I need to know, sir. It’s eating away at me. I feel like I’m suffocating under it.”  
“If it goes downhill I will not take responsibility.”  
“Thank you.”  
“Go before someone sees you.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Does the bunny demon have a name? I went with his actor's name. The idea of a demon that replicates and is the fall man for everything is hilarious to me
> 
> Side note, the demons have no idea their document names are so dumb.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The spelling of the names was pulled right out of my ass

"What do you think it's like?" Aziraphale leans back onto his hands so he can properly look up at the cosmos where stars flickered to life and planets were hauled into place. Dust of the purest reds and purples spiraled and swirled into motion and angels flashed past like shooting stars.

Night and day existed, but the Almighty hadn't quite gotten into a consistent habit yet. She would invent clocks later as she was quite busy and hadn't had the time to invent them yet. And so, after an amount of existence, the blue expanse grew dark and the stars rose up. The cloud weavers settled down onto the solid firmament of Heaven and the sky painters and planet builders rose to continue their work. The ones who crafted flowers shared kisses as they took the place of their siblings in the new garden. Sunflowers slept and moonflowers were born. They did not know why they were making these things. Most were happy to create them and feel Her silent joy. They all loved Her.

"What are you on about now?"

There had been four of them. There had been only four walls so it made sense that there would be four of them. No sense in having more angels than you needed to g̵̺̼̽͌͒̑͑ử̶̺̦̇̀̄a̸͍̩̝͖̥̒̆̄̈r̶̯͎͓̭̽̽͋̋d̷̺̀̂̒ the walls. The Almighty was pragmatic like that.

Azjabreel was the tallest of the four. She wore her chestnut hair carefully braided with red string. She carried a greatsword and an even greater smile. Gabriel often visited her upon the wall and they spoke in hushed whispers. Their laughter could be heard for miles.

Azurile carried a bow and quiver of arrows that never failed to meet their target. He had been gifted the largest wings with an uncountable number of eyes pressed onto his feathers. He did not open them as commanded by Uriel. He found pleasure in listening to the birds of Eden.

Azimikael's freckles shimmered and flickered like the stars above them. His spear emitted golden light that burned unprotected skin. He trained the hardest and held nothing back when they sparred. Yet, when the day's training was done, he was the first to offer kind words of encouragement. Michael was the hardest on him.

Aziraphale had been created with a sword that dripped flames that burned even the holiness of Heavenly ground. The other angels fascinated him the most. He watched them fly by his wall or settle into the clouds to rest. They hugged and kissed and spoke to each other. They seemed to be so happy together. Raphael sat next to him on the wall, occasionally, but he didn't say much. He seemed sad, but sadness hadn't been invented yet. He gave him cryptic pieces of advice, "Do not hesitate, Aziraphale." He never explained what that meant.

"Up there! What do you think it's like?" Aziraphale waves his hand up toward the sky. "What else would I be talking about?"

Azurile lays on his stomach and his great wings created a relaxing breeze. Azjabreel's mouth was too full of manna to speak. It hadn't tasted very good today and Aziraphale had given her his share. Azimikael sits shoulder to should with brother and looks up at the stars as well.

"You're always off somewhere in that fuzzy head. How should I know what you're thinking?"

He loved the time with his siblings, but the wall was lonely and their time together grew rarer and rarer.

"It seems...fun." Aziraphale licks his lips. "I could never imagine all those colors and patterns. They keep coming up with new colors. It's very hard to keep up with all the names!" He lets out an indignant squawk as his hands are swiped from their place on the firmament and he lands flat on his back. "Azimikael!" His brother grips both of his cheeks and squeezes.  
"You talk too much, brother! We are not meant to question the whats or the whys. We are to keep Heaven safe." He kisses Aziraphale's forehead before helping him sit up again.  
"I just...wondered is all." He pulls his knees to his chest and hides the lower half of his face there. "I would like to see it up close. All of it... The stars...The garden..." The other angels.

The sky turns red.  
The great horn sounds.  
Four cherubs raise their weapons.

* * *

Raphael beautiful with hair made of flames and his skin glittering with the golden blood of angels. His sword burned brighter than the newly hung sun. Michael is a vision of ferocity in gold spattered armor. Her spear drips the blood of their brothers and sisters. 

"Why do you have to kill him? He let down his weapon! He's on our side!"

Everything is blurred. The Heavens shift. The sounds are too much. The pain is too much. Golden blood blinds blue eyes. 

  
"Shut up!"  
"Don't do this... Please."

He reaches weakly for his namesake. He can't speak. A sword drops and an angel blinks out of existence.

"Do not hesitate, Aziraphale." He can't tell where the laughter comes from. 

A spear drops. A cherub falls. The great horn sounds.

* * *

"Do you remember much of the War?"  
"You're very drunk, dear boy."  
"Come on... I saw you! You gotta have good stories!"  
"You saw me? How...?"  
"Course I did. Couldn't forget you if I tried."  
"I'm afraid I don't remember much of Heaven. I was wounded and some things were jostled around...I remember being lonely."

* * *

Hitting the sulfur the first time had burned everything. His eyes and his tongue had melted away. He had clawed his way up to the surface on the backs of angels who weren't lucky enough to make it out. Sulfur boiled away his nebula wings and left them bare and bleeding. His skin sloughed off and left scales behind. An angel died and left behind the demon Crawly.

Hitting the sulfur the second time had been like jumping into a cool swimming pool on a hot day. The sulfur had put out the flames of falling at a million light years an hour. His wings had cut through the boiling red liquid as easily as they cut through the air. Seeing Aziraphale melt away had burned more than his own Fall. Crowley's Being still held a glimmer of the angel he had once been in the form of distant memories that twinkled like stars in the expanse. The thing that replaced Aziraphale was a familiar shell formed around a Being he did not recognize. There were no stars. An angel died and left behind the demon Crowley.

"Your name is Ezra now. Can you say my name?"  
Can you tell me you love me?  
Can you tell me we'll be alright?  
Can you tell me this is all a dream?

"Ezra. I like that. Don’t know yours. I am certain it’s lovely.”

* * *

And so Ezra leaves. He doesn't go very far. In fact, he's never been very far from Crowley. He'd even been scared all those weeks ago when Crowley had left him in Hell to "run an errand" on Earth. He could have never come back. Crowley was supposed to be there. He had known that from the moment he'd opened his eyes to his new life as a demon. Crowley was always meant to be at his side. 

He trails his nails along the wall as he walks to the stairs to the flat. Picture frames. The wall isn't stained. The marks are from picture frames hung for years. Before his eyes, the marks disappear leaving unmarked Prussian blue wallpaper behind. He touches the wall again. Nothing changes. He pulls his hand away as if he's been burned.

His feet lead him not to the room he called his bedroom but to the one Crowley called his own. He's never been inside. He's never cared to be inside. He opens the door as quietly as possible. He can smell the scent of sadness wafting up from the main floor like the lingering stench of an overcooked dinner. Crowley isn't of a mind to notice.

The room is stagnant. Crowley keeps plants around the entire building but the ones housed here droop and wither. The top of his dresser is covered in nitpicky piles of receipts and coins. He has eight bottles of black nail polish from eight different brands organized by bottle size, name, and fill amount. The walls are still covered in the faded yellow wallpaper that had previously covered the steps up to the flat. They are completely bare. Crowley's desk is full of things like his art supplies and magazines, but it is impeccably organized. The bed is made and an electric blanket is carefully folded in the corner. He tugs the top drawer of the bedside table open and finds it a neat assortment of headphones, an extra phone charger, and some other little bits and bobs. He opens the larger, bottom drawer and frowns when he sees nothing.

No. He knows Crowley. The demon hates clutter. He relieves stress by adjusting and moving things to within molecules of where he thinks they should be. The desk is full. The dresser top is running out of space. This drawer should not be empty. It will not be empty. He closes it and opens it again. "Stupid bastard."

Crowley doesn't know where wifi comes from but all of his electronics connect to the internet. Crowley thinks cars only work if you have a driver's license and so he can't go anywhere without his wallet. Crowley had heard about on-demand television once and now what he wants to watch is always on. Crowley knew humans put photographs in their wallets and so the polaroid had fit. C̶̲̓r̸͚̰͓͑͂ö̸̩̳͇́̊͂w̴̱̠̤̽̅͝l̵͍̞̋e̶̞̰̋̈́̿ͅỳ̵̛̜ ̶̠̺̖̌͒ã̸̤̹̮̉͠l̶͇̉̿͌w̵̛̠̖̃a̷͚̓y̵̦̗̕s̴͔̈́̇͝ ̵̡̯̆̋̐w̸͈̳͋͋͘a̸̘̣̞̓̈n̶̖͙̆́͜t̷̳̺͐̓ȩ̴̖̽̇͘ḑ̴͈̲͋͆̅ ̸̢̪͋t̴̨͂́o̶̡̬͚͆͠ ̶͉͛̐̂k̸̡͕̮͝ẻ̴͔̞̜̑e̷̗̐p̷̡̌ ̷̗̟̜̇͠A̶̢̜̟̓ẕ̵̤͛͆i̸̝̦͊̀̕ṛ̸̫̘̂̇ä̶̻́̈́p̵̧̝͉̈̊h̵̤͘a̴̧̬̭͑l̵̠̖̎e̶͙̳͇̓̒ ̵̬̅̀͛s̶͈̘̓á̸͔͎f̵̮̟̍̄͜ȇ̷͙͛͝ ̴͕̬̜͒á̵̲̈́̈́n̷̜̝͍̍̓̅d̸͚̱̄͜ ̴̻̦̜̒̃s̴̪̀̐͆o̴͎̠̊̑͒ ̸͔͎̀h̵̞͓̊͠͝e̸͓̖̊'̵̙̩̮̑͋͛ḑ̴̠͓̋̓ ̸͔͙̜̓̊̑ă̵̖͗̀l̴̬̱̓́̂w̸̰̐a̴̜̤̪̕y̶̢̛̙͇̾̓s̶̩̱͕͒̿͑ ̴̤͉̉̐͝b̸̻͔͈̄ḛ̴͑ḛ̸̞̗͊̆n̴̺̬̔ ̴̱͌̈́i̷͎̮͍̒̆n̴̮̋̕ ̶̗̇̃̂t̴̞͂̕h̶̜̔ẽ̸̹ ̷̡̧̿͑͝r̵̞͔͔̔͛i̷̖̍́̓g̶̠͓̋͝ͅḩ̴̩͍̂ẗ̶̛͔́ ̴͔͖̺̄̿p̵͙̍͘ľ̶̳̣a̶̦̟͙͋c̷̩͆̀ẻ̵̢̲̰̄̕ ̶̼̬̘͘͝ā̵͙̖͚̊̍t̸̗̼̲̀͆ ̶̯͙́t̵͉̖̩͝h̷̝̥̿ę̷̪̖͋̊ ̸̛͖̉́r̶̩̽i̸̼̦͒̅̾g̸͓͋ḥ̵̿t̸̗͋̃͝ ̷͕̎̏͜t̸͇͔͓̿̈í̵̳̰̅́m̶̢̟̑è̶̮̩.̷̫̒́ ̵̣̪̼̈́̀ Ezra knows Crowley has an imagination that is unlike any other demon. Things happen around him because he thinks those things should happen. He never imagined Ezra would go through his things. He never imagined Ezra would find a crumpled tan frock coat and set of keys with a flag keychain...and so he hadn't.

But Ezra knows Crowley.

Suddenly there's so much sound in his head. Air raid sirens. Hurricane winds. Screeching tires. Fireworks. He grabs the keys and pockets them. He kicks the drawer closed and rips the entire table away from the wall and throws it. It smashes against the far wall and sends shards of wood flying along with everything inside it. He snarls and cracks the desk in half. Plants are smashed. The blanket is torn to shreds. He swipes everything from the dresser and shatters the nail polish bottles just for the pleasure of it. He can't drown out the sound.

Á̸͓̣͚͆z̶͙̹͕̐̂͒i̶̮̤̰̓ṟ̷̹̈͑ä̵̻́p̸̰̎͗̀h̷̯̳̎ḁ̵̙̾͗͝l̷͇͑̓͌e̸͇͗͒̇

Ä̴̤̼̟͔́̒̚ͅz̶͕̣̯̐ī̵̯̭͖̯̼͒r̷̨̫̓̈́͐͋͝ã̸̄͗̏̀͜p̴͓͕̥͙̘̈͗͛͘ḧ̶̨̦͙̪́̍̐ä̸̛̫̣̭͚̤́̀̎̒ľ̵̰̼͇͒͗̃̐e̴͍̭̱̅͗̊͝

  
A̸̡̙̥̮̮̎̽ź̶̞̖͉̦̖͎̽̾̒́i̸̛̠̜̮̗͕̘̥̻̭͔͂̇̅̅̌͝r̴̮͍͋̍̊͂̀͝á̶̞͉̃̄̒̈̈́̊̈p̸̹̫̤͖͔̦̖̍̓̋͗͋͐͛ͅẖ̶̄ǎ̵̢͉̘͍͍̰̳̰͌̔͐͜l̸̺̺͇̿͊̄̇̽̓̓̓̄e̵͍̙̖͉̮̺͕̘̩̗̜̎͛̕

A̸̧̾͒̏z̸̢͉̪̭̼͙̈́͊̊̇͒̎i̴̫̬̠͙̰̜͉̼̦͓̼͎̲̎͊̽̾̃͜͠ͅȑ̶̛̞̽̈̓͆͒̔̎̍͑͊̑̈́ą̶̯̳̼̻̦̱͉̟̪̪̫̺̉̋p̵̨͉̤̙̳̫̈́͂̈́͆̈́̾̽̈́͊̕͝h̵̻̘̖̭̖̹͉̠̺̦̏͒͌͌̿̎̏̃͌́̕͜a̴̡̱̣̭̙̯̜̘̯̼͉̥̫̼̙͓̺̿̒̇̎̆̋͝ͅl̴̖͆͊̓͘ë̷̢̘͖͎̺͚̜̭̙͈̲͇̫̯̜͇͎́̽̿͌͗͋́̑͊̓̑͐̋̓̍͋͋͝ͅ

  
"He's mine."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is uhhhhhh like...the middle? I have too much in my head. I'm trying not to go too slow.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a slightly explicit bit about sex in this one. I don't write smut so no one is actually doing the nasty, but it's mentioned in a graphic-ish manner

They don’t drink as much as they used to. They don’t need the heavy blanket of inebriation to speak their truth. It also meant they had no real outlet for the weird thoughts that sentient beings are bound to have. Being drunk or, if Aziraphale was prodded enough to pop off to somewhere ethical, high let those ideas out for argument or slow nods of inebriated understanding. Aziraphale was very good at compartmentalizing thanks for Heaven and he had a very nice compartment for his weird little questions.

Crowley pauses the television with a snap and sits up from where he’s cuddled against Aziraphale’s warm body.

He is not so good at keeping in his weird questions. He has a commendation for inspiring the ADHD controversy of the early 21st century. Aziraphale had a very nice memo commending him on inspiring the treatment of the disorder. In reality, Crowley had hung around Sir Frederic Still for a while when he’d decided to take some classes in his downtime. The man had asked him all sorts of questions about why he damn well couldn’t focus and the ideas had just sprung forth. Humans did the rest themselves.

  
“Darling I know you get fussy but this is Chris Hemsworth, not Liam Hemsworth. Look. He’s far too broad. We have discussed this.” He likes his men tall and thin. He just can’t help it. First impressions and all. Crowley absolutely refused to allow anything with Tilda Swinton to grace their screen. He had declared something about Nanny Ashtoreth and then grumbled off with no explanation.

Crowley messily pushes his hand against Aziraphale’s lips. “What does the A.Z. Even stand for?”  
“What?”  
“On the everything. The bookshop. Your signature. All of it.”

Aziraphale sighs. “You stopped the film for this?”  
“It’s important, angel.”

He pulls his demon back against his chest. He’s quite the cuddly, gangly monster and Aziraphale wouldn’t have it any other way. “It’s just an A and a Z really.”  
“Oh sod off.”

  
“Really! It just looks nice.”

Crowley squirms and shifts. He straddles the angel in a way that does not have him thinking of a memorable moment in the car last week, thank you for not mentioning it. “You call yourself Ezra though. It should be E. Z. Fe— Oh. That’s rather morbid.”

Aziraphale shakes his head fondly. He runs his hands up and down Crowley’s sides. He looks so small like this. He’s tall and thin and just on the masculine side of androgynous. He really shouldn’t feel so delicate. “Exactly. I thought Azira sounded dreadful as well. It sounds just as biblical in my opinion. Can’t go around performing miracles and being a mononym anymore.”

Crowley watches him with true interest. He’s always had that look on his face. It had just taken Aziraphale a few hundred centuries to realize what it meant. “Ezra Fell fits you. Very soft, that. Old fashioned but modern.” He earns himself a very pointed exasperated straight mouthed face.

“Ezra suits my needs and is close enough to my proper name. I tell the humans who ask that the shop is inherited and that finishes that.” Long limbs languidly loosen and Crowley is suddenly sideways in Aziraphale’s lap. He rests his head against his shoulder and Aziraphale plants a kiss onto the crown of his head. The blanket gets tucked close again.

“Ezra Fell. Can’t hyphenate. Crowley-Fell? Awful. Fell-Crowley? Bad.”  
“That was your motivation for pausing the film before the best part?” He can’t help but feel as fond as he is slightly annoyed. “Crowley is your proper name. Hyphenating it would be silly. Crowley-Aziraphale? That sounds like an incantation.”  
He feels a shrug against his body. “Didn’t hurt to ask.” He snaps and the movie comes back to life.

* * *

"S'that my phone?" Crowley looks rakishly handsome even after a drool-inducing nap. His hair is mussed in just the right manner and his drawstring pajama pants droop low to show flashes of sharp hip bones and flat belly. He leans heavily against the doorjamb and yawns twice as wide as any human could ever manage.

Fuck.

"I was just putting it to charge, love." Aziraphale gives his most angelic smile. It's the sort that makes human brains fritz out for a moment and they completely forget what's just happened. Crowley's not a human.

"Thought I put it by the bed." He trudges over with limbs still loose from sleep. His long arms loop around Aziraphale's neck and shoulders so he can peer down at what he's doing. The phone is unlocked and most certainly not open to the messaging app and it is not displaying the middle of a conversation between Crowley and someone who is called Emerson. "Angel, what are you doing with my phone." His eyes narrow and then, slow as can be, the yellow iris grows to fill the sclera. It is not a question.

Aziraphale quickly ducks out of Crowley's grasp. He doesn't relinquish the phone. "It buzzed and I was curious as to who would be messaging you." It had been so easy to figure out the passcode. The smiling portrait of them staring back at him had almost stopped him. Almost.  
"Give me my phone, Aziraphale."  
"Why so defensive, Crowley? Is there something I shouldn't see?"

Crowley is much more awake now. His spine crackles as he stands up properly. He's a half head taller than the angel when he's not slouched over. "My privacy is my own. Give me my phone. I will not ask again."

Aziraphale doubles down. He will not be spoken to like this! "Are you threatening me? What will you do, hm? Attack me like the demon you are?" It's a low blow but has every right to be upset. The messages were completely inappropriate and he'd found others.

Crowley grabs his wrist a hair too tight. "Don't turn this around on me, Aziraphale. Give me my phone and I will walk away and forget this incident."  
"No!" He jerks his arm away. The mobile clatters to the ground and the screen cracks. "You will not walk away from this! You will explain to me why you're talking to some Morgan about getting drinks together! You will explain why this Ivanna asked you to drop by on Thursday morning. You will explain why you told me you were visiting Cambridge but this Emmerson is giving you thanks for meeting at your flat on the same day!" He prods Crowley's chest through his thin tank.

"You think I'm cheating on you. Is that it, Aziraphale?" His speech becomes sibilant for the first time in ages and ages. "So you went through my phone like a jealous teenage girl?"  
Aziraphale's face reddens in indignation. "I've smelled them on you for years! Why would you change your ways just because we share a bed?"  
"Smelled... What?"  
"Sex! Men...Women...Sometimes both. I could smell it on your breath! Your body! You would...would fuck and then sidle up to me as if nothing had happened! I'm not stupid, Crowley! I'm no blushing virgin! I know what sex smells like." His voice raises in pitch near the end of his tirade. The smell had always made his heart clench. It had been happening years before the Agreement and years after they'd both settled in London.

Crowley's eyes are blown out black and yellow with anger. "So my past means I'm cheating? Suppose that means you are too with all your gentlemen's clubs and those bars you liked to frequent, yeah? Let all the cute boys sit in your lap and bat their eyes at you? Quick fucks with pretty lads behind huts in Mesopotamia? Watched all of those. Fueled my own hand for years and years."

"How dare you!"

"No! How dare you!" He's all fangs and a shimmer of flesh-colored scales shimmers down his body. "I was fucked! Past tense, oh glorious Angel of the Eastern Gate. And I enjoyed it. I took my fill because you wouldn't even admit we were friends let alone accept my advances. I let cock fill my arse or my cunt. Let men gag me with all they had until I coul—"

"Stop! Stop it! Crowley stop it!" He feels his own tears threaten to spill over. He's seen Crowley angry before, but never like this. His stomach twists into knots upon knots.

The demon is right in his face now. There's a slight cloudiness to his eyes that signal a coming shed. He's usually quite grumpy in these times, but this is true anger like the angel has never seen. "Emmerson sold me the John Donne I gave you. Let him stay and use my flat to take a holiday instead of me driving out there. Morgan is eighty and dying. We meet up every few months to talk about cars. Ivanna is my cordwainer. I had new boots made. I have not been touched since we started with Warlock!" He breathes hard and loud and does not move away.

Aziraphale wobbles his lip and tries to force his face into one pitiful enough for Crowley to forgive him. "I'm sorry... I... I wanted... I'm... You're finally mine. I don't want anyone to take you away."  
For maybe the first time in six thousand years Crowley doesn't fall for the look. "I have no master, Aziraphale. Not anymore."

It had taken weeks for that wound to scab over. It never quite healed.

* * *

"Message for you, sir."  
Gabriel takes the envelope with a glimmer of excitement breaking through the dark fog of sadness that had been surrounding him. It smells like Beelzebub. He uses a spear-shaped letter opener to carefully break the seal.

Form M3N4C3 was completely banned after Heaven and Hell had called their temporary truce. Infernal glitter fell onto Gabriel's lap as soon as he unfolded the document and the damned sparkles took ages and ages to clean.

"Archangel Gabriel,  
You may schedule further business interactions through the main Hell phone line. Do not attempt contact using my personal extension.

Unpleasantly,  
The Lord of the Flies, Beelzebub Prince of Hell"

Sandalphon took an awkward step back to avoid the glitter and Gabriel's ever so sad face. "Sir?"  
"I think...I just got broken up with." Good angels weren't supposed to ask questions. He didn't mean to hurt his friend... 

* * *

"Takes five to seven business years to go through."

"Years... To check on the status? That should take a few days at most!"  
"Days? No one can even finish a form in days. Your lot are so imprecise. Always be busy, we say. You have to check your forms at lea—"  
"Isn't there someone I can talk to? A manager maybe?"  
"I am the manager."  
"Your manager?"  
"I am my manager."  
"...Thank you for your time."  
"Displeasure, sir."

* * *

Praying had become a habit millennia ago. He was under no impression that anyone was listening. He knew there was an office up there just for sorting prayers, but he highly doubted anyone was taking notes on the prayers of a demon. She didn't care about her Fallen children. His prayers never came true.

He never asked for much, really. In Heaven, he had prayed for answers (he was punished). In Hell, he had prayed for release (he longed for a forbidden fruit for six thousand years). Sometimes he prayed in his mind for the little things like half-begging prayers that the lavender angel food cake Aziraphale loved would be in stock (it never was). There were nights when he looked out at the stars and just spoke his mind (no one replied). Some days he screamed and screamed like a child missing his mother (why won't you love me anymore). There was never some great sign. There was never a sudden zing of Her power. It had been radio silence since he'd landed in Hell.

The sacred, ancient language of the angels had not been lost to him, but the very sound of it caused his ears and eyes and nose to ooze black blood. Attempting to speak it caused great spasms of pain to wrack his body. The demon Crowley was desperate. The demon Crowley was scared.

The sounds came in choking gasps. He gripped his own throat and willed his body to still. "M̵͈̾ő̷̱ṭ̶̄ḫ̶̛e̶̪͛r̸͈̈́,̴͚͋ ̴̳̈́I̷̪͠ ̷̺͗n̶̡̂e̵̯̾ę̸̓d̶̥͋ ̶͉͂ả̶̳ ̵̖̒s̵̙͝i̵͙͌g̴̺̊ń̶͖.̶̛̣ ̷͔͊A̸̩̓ň̸̝y̷͇͐t̸̥̄h̵̫̑i̴͍͝n̴̹̍g̴̰̾.̷̹͝ ̸̢̀Ṭ̷̆h̵̪̊e̷͇̐ ̴̛͇s̴̝̒m̸̹̄a̴̩͆ḷ̷̊l̶̟̃ḛ̸̽s̷̮̾t̶̨̿ ̵̜͐g̴̬̊l̴̙͘i̴͓̚m̶͇̈́p̷͓͠s̸̫̔e̴͓͆ ̵͊͜ȏ̸̟f̴͇̾ ̵͎̔ŷ̴͔o̵̜̕ṵ̴̀r̵̳̈́ ̷̖̈́Ì̵̘n̴̠͝e̸̱̊f̵͙̉f̷͚̊a̶͙̒b̵̼̒l̴͉͝e̴̖͐ ̶̳́P̶̰̾l̶̪̂å̸͚n̸̻͛.̵̮͆ ̶͖͐Î̷̢ ̸͇̎c̶̭̊a̸͈̕n̴̬͠'̶̯̉t̴̞̑ ̶̲͛s̸̰̾u̸̞͆r̶̡͐v̸̹̈i̷̱͌v̶̜͠ẹ̸͊ ̵̗̒t̸̳͌h̴̪̆i̵̫̔s̷͚̉ ̸̝̒f̷̭͋ǒ̴͓r̵̯̀ ̴̲̉m̴̘͂u̶͕͂c̸̞̀h̷̠͝ ̷̻͝l̴̬̓o̵̼͂n̵̠̽g̸͕͝e̴̥͌r̵͉͗.̸̬̈́ ̷̙̕" He lay back, blood dribbling from the corner of his mouth. His insides burned from mouth to the very lining of his lungs. It almost felt like Falling again.

A great crash from the upper flat shakes the bookshop. A heavy tome falls from a shelf and smashes into the glass case holding the misprint Bibles. One by one they drop from their place; one falls open. Crowley stumbles to his feet. No one is listening. He wipes his mouth though a few drops still land on one of the pages.

"Now war arose in heaven, Michael and his angles fighting against the dragon. And the dragon and his angles fought back."

He tips his head back as another crash sounds. "Really? The angles typo?" His laugh sprays more blood over the page. "Angles. For fuck's sake." He leans his weight on one arm against the shattered display. Aziraphale would be so upset. Another crash. "Oh...Fuck." Those noises were coming from inside the bookshop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Crowley: I would like to learn one medicine, please  
> Sir Frederic Still: I need to study this wiggly monkey man
> 
> And that's how the ADHD diagnosis was born


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I actually had to split two chapters. The second bit that technically goes with this will be posted asap my poor, broken babies.

Ezra sat right outside of Crowley's bedroom door. It was hanging by a single hinge. His head is tipped back against the wall and his eyes are closed.

"My... My room." The demon’s knees visibly wobble and grow weak. Blood steadily drools from his mouth. The internal wound will heal, but this new pain has taken its place. Ezra can taste it. He's full to bursting. The room had been the only place Crowley been safe from Ezra. The white-haired demon had sneered at the very idea of entering. "My room." Even the wallpaper had been ripped by clawed fingers. Nothing had been spared.

Ezra lolls his head toward the sound of Crowley's voice. He’s tired. His fingers fiddle with the keychain in his hand. "You have a flat hidden away from me." He smiles angelically. "Is that where he's living? In your fantasy land is that where he is?" He takes no pleasure in watching Crowley drops onto his hands and knees. He tastes a mix of flavors that are sour and bitter and spoiled. His mouth salivates as if he's going to vomit at any second. His mouth quivers. He doesn't want to say these things. He doesn't want to see Crowley stock still and staring. His mouth moves without him.

He stretches his legs out slowly. His own black blood stains his knuckles. He's so tired. "I want to meet him. I want to know why he's better than me. Why can't I make you love me? You're mine. I can feel it in my Being. It's cracked, you know. I felt it." The pain of it is what had brought him down to sit against the wall. His swirling, eldritch soul with its fathomless depths of black and reaching tendrils had trembled and a deep fissure formed where it shook. He hasn't felt fear before. Being pulled out of the sulfur had been met with a loving voice. Crowley's powerful presence had kept him safe in Hell and his own rage made the other demons fear him. On Earth, there is nothing that can hurt him because Crowley will be there to fix it.

He lurches forward and crawls to Crowley. "Please...Crowley don't...Don't make that face anymore." The serpent stares into his destroyed bedroom with nothing in his eyes. "Please... Come back." The crack grows a little more. Crowley stares even as Ezra desperately tries to wipe the blood away from his mouth. Crowley had comforted him with the same motions. Why wasn't it working? "Come back...Come back."

* * *

  
"I received the confirmation today."  
"This is it then. There's no taking it back. Whatever they decide cannot be disputed."  
"I'm not afraid... Not for myself at least."

* * *

He hands in the Requisition Form For Out of Heaven Long Distance Calls. It's processed in two to three business hours. It takes one full business hour for the receptionist to take him off of hold and then another for him to be switched around even though he knows the correct extension.

"Beelzebub!"  
"Do not speak to me so familiarly, Archangel Gabriel."

His face falls. Thankfully no one is around to see it. "Apologies. I'm calling to apologize in general. I know I missed our date."  
"Meeting."  
"Meeting! Yes, meeting! I'm...So very sorry. Can I see you in person? To explain? I'll buy the Starbucks!"

A long pause.

"I wish I had never learned to remember you, Gabriel."  
"Bee..."  
"I forgot for a reazzzon. Every time I remember something my...It hurtzzz. Phyzzzically."  
“But we're friends. You're my best friend! We've been best friends since...Since before time."  
"I think it'zzz best we both forget each other."

They hang up. Gabriel feels a hairline fracture in his perfect pearl of a Being.

* * *

  
Crying breaks him out of his stupor. Ezra has forced himself into the lanky demon's lap and is crying, crying into the crook of his neck. It's pure instinct to wrap him up and hold him close. This creature destroyed his possessions. This creature hurt him in every way possible.

Stars sparkle in Crowley's Being. It swirls like the great galaxy he used to spin to life. He's never been so good at being a demon. He was never so good at being an angel. He can't stop the love he feels for every living thing. It's not strong like the angels but it's a steady hum always in the back of his mind. 

He presses soft kisses into even softer curls. His voice crackles like a burning log. "Shh... Don't cry. No tears, lamb. I know you can't control it." The worst thing is that he knows it's true. This demon did not sparkle. This demon did not have the same Being as Aziraphale. His Being had shined a thousand shades of white, but it had never been perfectly white. Ezra couldn't help but be what he had been created for... But Crowley had long ago learned that there was no such thing as fate.

"Sing to me?" His voice is broken with the force of his tears. The steady stream of blood from Crowley's mouth had stopped a lifetime ago. He can still taste the bitterness of it. There's a pause from the demon in his arms. "No... You're hurt, aren't you? Don't strain your voice...Hold me?"

Crowley sinks his nose into his hair. Ezra doesn't use the same cologne Aziraphale that had wafted by when he passed. He'd snagged it from the bathroom and hidden it away with everything else. Ezra smells like vetiver and fresh-cut pine. The smell boiles the anxiety beneath his skin. "For however long you need."

* * *

"They're going to come for us again one day." They lay in the darkness of their bedroom wrapped together in the bliss of intimate touches. It's a hot, sticky summer and their bed is just as hot and sticky.

Aziraphale lays with his head pillowed under one of his outstretched arms. His strokes the planes of Crowley's relaxed face. "And it won't be armed with Holy Water and Hellfire. There are more things that can kill our kind than such cliches."

Crowley's sex-drunk eyes bore into him. "It's not something I want to think about, angel. Ignorance is bliss." His hands curl against the soft chest they rest against. There's hard muscle under the softness of too many cakes. Aziraphale was a warrior and always would be.

"We need insurance."

Yellow eyes snap open suddenly. He sits up in an unnatural pull of his spine. "Aziraphale. We aren't talking about this. We aren't talking like this. If they come for us we'll find another way to stop them!"

The angel sits up and pulls Crowley's face close to his own. He kisses him so soft and so full of love. "I'm afraid for you, my love. If they...If I'm erased... Who will protect you? From them? From yourself?" He plants kisses over watering eyes. His sweet, sweet crybaby. "A shot glass of Holy Water will kill you. Hellfire only takes a spark. There won't be any pain. We'll be in the Before."

Crowley's whole body shakes. He curls his shoulders in. All those years ago... The Holy Water had been for more than insurance. They both knew it. "I would tear down the moon for you. I would raze cities to give you enough light to read. Don't ask me to do this."  
Cool hands sooth his heated skin. "I know... That I ask so much of you. I know you. You'd storm Heaven with a tire iron for me... I'm asking you to do this for yourself."

Aziraphale keeps a spark of Hellfire hidden in a hollowed-out book. It's primed and ready to miracle into his fist with just a thought. He thinks of it often.

Crowley stores his Holy Water in a vial in the safe in his flat. He denies its existence in his mind. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So uh...How do you think this is all going to end?


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sure you can see by the length of this chapter why I split them up

Holy Water sits in the safe across from him hidden being the enigmatic smile of the Mona Lisa. He could end it now. End them both. Maybe Aziraphale is in the Before. Maybe his Being was there waiting for Crowley to join him. They could finally run away together. He could end Ezra’s misery. Being a demon was a curse and being a demon with no control... Even worse than being a demon with a broken heart.

But he doesn’t because what if there is no Before? What is the opposite of life if you're not quite a living being? What if there is no Aziraphale except for the Fall had left behind? Funny thing, really. Those kinds of questions were what had gotten him in trouble in the first place.

He had agreed to take Ezra to the flat that is filled with little pieces of the ten happiest years of his life. He expected none of it would survive the night. “I want to know him. I want to know how he made you happy.” Ezra had begged him. There had been no sign of manipulation. Ezra's shaking lilt had not been fabricated. “I’m scared of myself, Crowley. There’s something inside of me. I can’t make it sleep. It's hurting you...And I know we're meant to be beside each other.” One moment of vulnerability didn't make up for weeks of torment.

He spreads stacks of polaroids out before them. The still framed pictures he'd grabbed from walls and shelves are stacked carefully on his other side. The polaroids give everything they capture a slightly off feeling. The colors never come out quite right or something is just a hint out of focus. It’s charming, Aziraphale had told him. “He... He loved taking pictures. This might be a fourth of them. I don't know what he did with the rest." He watches Ezra's face. "He said they were proof that we were really free. Heaven and Hell could find them and there would be no consequence.” He shakily picks one of them up. His mouth twists. He doesn’t want to cry anymore.

Ezra lifts one of the photos like he’s holding paper-thin porcelain. “Will you tell me the stories? You... You said demons can remember. I was him... Part of me was. I want to remember. I need to remember, Crowley. Anything.” His voice shakes again. His wide pupil eyes rarely move but there's a quick, nervous flick away from Crowley's gaze.

The serpent nods. He scoots so he’s sitting knee to knee with Ezra. He takes the polaroid Ezra offers and smiles at it. “Ah... This is our first plant together.”

* * *

Crowley loved children and yet they could never have them. He had long come to terms with the fact. They were an angel and a demon. Even if they adopted a child they would outlive them and their children and their children’s children. The pain would be too much.

So they compromised.

“An Easter lily?”

They stand in the cool breeze of spring at a plant nursery not far out of London proper. Crowley lifts the plant Aziraphale proudly offers him. His angel has a big smile on his face.  
“I think it’s lovely! The pretty white flowers and those long leaves!” He looks to Crowley hopefully, but he feels no heavy pressure on his chest to please the angel. He can say no. They had agreed that their plant would be one they both wanted.

The demon inspects every aspect of the chosen plant. Sharing a plant was very important to him. It had to be perfect in every way! “No spots... Roots sound healthy... Good color...” It’s a fine plant. He doesn’t have an Easter lily in his collection and the blooms match his beautiful angel. “It will need a better pot than this.” He hides a smile behind the foliage as a is kiss planted on his cheek.

* * *

  
"It's the one in the kitchen, right?" Ezra listens to every word with his set of off-putting vertical eyelids covering part of his eyes.  
Crowley nods slowly. “What... uh... Is that look?” He can’t say he’s ever seen it before.”  
“Told you I can see everything around me. I only want to see this.” He smiles soft and weak, and maybe there’s something else there but Crowley can’t quite place it. “This one?”

They’re smiling at the beach. Everything is cast in a red-orange glow. Crowley’s hair glows like hellfire and Aziraphale’s hair is a halo of pale curls like celestial light.

* * *

They’d taken a beach holiday on a whim. The beach was quiet, but not devoid of life and the weather was perfect. A large umbrella still sits in the sand where it had shielded them from the hot sun of the earlier part of the afternoon and a large, tartan blanket mostly protects them from the sand. They'd spent the day relaxing in the water. For a time Crowley had napped for a while with Aziraphale reading next to him.

Crowley wears the most boring black swim trunks and Aziraphale wears the tackiest blue trunks with pineapples all over them.

The demon digs in their never ending cooler and finds two more beers. They usually prefer wine or hard spirits but such things were much too heavy for the occasion. Aziraphale kisses his cheek in thanks.

“This was a wonderful idea, darling.” He sighs after taking the first sip. He wiggles his bare toes and leans back on one arm. He tips his head and smiles at his partner.

Crowley picks at the label of the bottle. “I mostly wanted to see you half naked.”  
“You see me half naked and a lot more.”  
“But this is... this is different! Everyone can see you and only I can have you!” He’s possessive in his own way. He likes it when people look at them, but no one is allowed to touch his angel. Aziraphale probably wouldn't fight off some dumb twink, but he did have to put up with Crowley. (Aziraphale never got the joke. Crowley had gone red laughing at his own cleverness.)

The sun slowly makes its way below the horizon. A slightly cool mouth presses a few kisses to his red shoulder. Demons were not immune to sunburn like angels. “The light is perfect.” The angel rests his chin on his shoulder. “We should take a picture.”  
“As long as we can stay until the stars come out.”  
“Oh, darling... I wouldn’t dream of leaving a moment before.”

* * *

  
Ezra picks up a dozen more photos of a life Crowley would give anything to have back. He doesn't let the tears fall.

“This one... Is that you?”

It’s a more candid shot of Crowley in their bathroom. Long hair tumbles down his back in a great cascade of red waves. He wears a dangerously low cut dress that bares his pale back. It’s skin tight and black but slowly fades to a deep, rich red snakeskin. He’s carefully applying razor sharp eyeliner.

* * *

“You are a sight.” Aziraphale's breath catches. Despite his particular proclivities when it comes to human forms he’s never failed to find all of Crowley attractive whether he must introduce him as his husband or his wife or his partner.

“If I make a mess of this I will ruin you.” Her voice sounds ever so refined yet keeps a slight masculine edge. She stands back and inspects her work. Perfect. It had taken decades to perfect the perfect wing and Crowley very much took credit for long-lasting lipstick that was nearly impossible to remove unless you had an entire package of makeup wipes...or magic. She smiles at her besotted husband. “Be a good angel and help me with this.” She holds out a necklace adorned with a curling serpent. It holds a ruby apple in its mouth.

“Subtle, love.” The angel laughs light and lively. He brushes all that red hair aside and clips the necklace into place. Crowley's demonic marking has moved from his face to slither down his spine. It can't be gotten rid of and it would just look silly covered in makeup. It makes the perfect landing zone for wet kisses. “Perfection. Absolute perfection. No one will be able to keep their eyes off of you.”

“I’ll need something to entertain me while you talk Sumerian epics. I'm sure I can find some other bored spouse to get drunk with and bitch about how awful our husbands are." Crowley teases. She taps Aziraphale's nose with stiletto nails. "Ah ah ah. No kisses, Mr. Fell. Can't risk smudging.

He’d only agreed to join Aziraphale at the opening of the newest exhibit on ancient texts because it was a black tie event and he’d seen the gorgeous dress in one of his magazines and there was no way in all the realms of Heaven or Hell he was going to pass up the chance to wear it. Seeing the looks of confusion on the faces of old humans when Mr. Ezra introduces his lovely wife, Mrs. Antonia J. Crowley, when two weeks ago he'd been married to a Mr. Anthony J. Crowley was just icing on the cake. She had found a gaggle of bored wives, but she didn't do much complaining.

* * *

“And he didn’t care?”  
“Suppose not. Didn’t complain the first time a couple of thousand years ago. Never complained at all.” He wiggles his fingers. "Did have to change the Effort after but that's just courtesy..." He snaps out of his thoughts to the sound of Ezra laughing and waving a photo in his face.  
“Nnk? I told him to get rid of that!”

* * *

“That is pornography.” Crowley lunges unsuccessfully for the innocuous black and white square.

“No no no. This is a tasteful nude. Something you would see in a coffee table book.” Aziraphale dodges the attack with a bright laugh. He’s practically radiating joy. “Come now! I’ll be the only one to see it.”

He dodges again and Crowley gives up. He flops onto his belly and hides his face in the rumpled duvet. “Angel!” He groans through all the fabric.

“Oh darling, don’t hide your face.” Aziraphale gently makes him rollover. He leans in and they kiss like a lazy Sunday afternoon. “I love you. Don't be cross.”

Crowley sticks out his tongue. "Oh darling, let me keep this picture of your hairy arse.” His angel laughs loud and bright and Crowley can't help but follow. 

* * *

“Tasteful nudes?” Ezra lets Crowley snatch the picture away. Aziraphale had caught him napping right after certain exertions. The duvet was pushed aside and he’d half curled up on his belly.  
“You can’t see cock or m’bollocks.” He’d found this one hidden away in Aziraphale’s bedside table. Now he shoves it far out of Ezra's reach.

They go through so many of the pictures. Crowley’s head feels fit to burst and his eyes burn. There were so many of them and most were mundane things like having coffee across the block together or various snaps of things Aziraphale simply found worthy like a flock of birds passing by. Crowley draws his knees up to his chest just as Ezra picks up one of the framed photos. He gives it a sniff before setting it down. He smiles at Crowley with no hint of shame. “They smell like love. Different kinds of love.”

He holds one out and Crowley takes it. “We didn’t have a wedding.”

* * *

A wedding would have been silly. Though they both did have the paperwork required of humans, very fake paperwork but it still existed, there was no point registering with the government. Neither kept a very close group of human friends and one certainly could not ask demons to RSVP (Also Don’t Murder Me).

They didn’t really celebrate at all. Being married had been one of those silly little thoughts in Crowley’s head and Aziraphale had brought to life. Crowley had taken a picture of their rings with his phone after whining for Aziraphale to give up his little wings for just a few minutes. Aziraphale is somewhere in the out of focus bookshop that served as the backdrop. 

* * *

Ezra looks at his hand. The burn scar on his ring finger hasn’t faded in the slightest.

“It melted.” Crowley swallowed. “When... When the Fall started. It gets so damned hot... I couldn’t tell you why it left a scar so don’t ask.”

Ezra nods. “You... were happy together?” He picks up another frame and sniffs it before deciding it isn’t worth it. He sets it aside and picks up another.

“Not always.” Crowley picks at his nails. “But you’re not supposed to always be happy with someone. It’s not real love when it's like that.” He sets his chin on his knees as he watches the other demon. “He said shit things to me. I said them back. We had fights that lasted a hundred years back before we got together. I get jealous and... and he was insecure. Arguing helped suss those things out.” He feels the dam is near breaking. “But I love him so much.”

There is a sudden deep, shaky breath, but it doesn’t come from him.

Ezra grips one of the frames so tightly the glass starts to crack. His eyes are blown wide. The picture is a proper portrait of them in front of the bookshop. One of the local art students had asked to take it and sent a copy. Crowley is draped over Aziraphale's shoulder and they're both smiling. Aziraphale had called it cute. Even Crowley had agreed. 

"Ezra?" This is it then. All of his memories of Aziraphale. The little things that still smell like him. The stupid angel wing mug and his harp cufflinks and his favorite blanket. The photos that keep it all clear in his mind. They'll be gone.

The glass shatters. The frame cracks. Glass and wood eat into Ezra's hands. The photo slides to the ground. An ivory envelope falls with a whisper. Swirling, pearlescent ink reads, "Crowley."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale would call Crowley an otter but let him live, okay?
> 
> Aziraphale has a fetish for his demon babe bent over something with his dress hiked up. Fight me.


	22. Chapter 22

"Gabriel, you are the messenger of God. You know what you are meant to know and say what you are meant to say. God did not make you to ask questions! She made you to give messages!"  
"She gave me free will! She gave all of us free will!"  
"Stop this now, brother. Remember what happened when others started to play around with free will."

Gabriel slams his palms onto Michael's desk. A pile of paperwork slowly slides to the ground and scatters. "I remember well what happened. Do not speak to me like one of them." He makes a wide gesture toward the empty halls outside of the office. "I am the Archangel Fucking Gabriel!"

Michael pushes back from his desk and stands. Gabriel could tower her and yet he remains hunched over the desk. "You are my brother. I love you."  
"We love all things." His violet eyes meet hers. "You have never felt love beyond Her grace."  
"Oh? Is that so, little brother?" She clasps her hands behind her back. Her blazer is neatly draped over her desk chair leaving her in a flowing, gauzy blouse. She is no less intimidating than if she stood fully clad in armor. "Come here."

He averts his eyes briefly. Finally, he stands before his sisters with head tilted down to look down into her eyes. She cups his face in her delicate fingers. "Long ago I had three siblings. Gabriel who is too kind for his own good." She strokes the barely-there stubble with a fond smile. "Uriel who holds the sun in her hands and does not let it blind her."

Gabriel's mouth turns down and his brows furrow. "And you? That's all. There's only three of us...And Sandalphon."

She smiles a gentle smile that is far from the faux angelic smiles they're all born knowing. "Raphael had hair made of fire and was so filled with love. He asked too many questions. He struck down the four cherubs who were meant to guard the wall. The cherubs I trained from their Beginning. He struck down hundreds of our kind before he too was run through and lost. I have known love beyond Her, little brother, and I have known loss beyond Her."

She manages to hold him up as his knees give out. The walls of her office muffle the pained screams.

* * *

"I...I didn't mean to break it!" Ezra stammers breathlessly. "I don't know what happened. I just...I picked it up and I couldn't stop." The glass and wood slowly ooze out of his skin as the wounds heal and his eyes are wet with nearly fallen tears.

Crowley doesn't hear any of it. He picks up the envelope with shaking hands. He can feel the energy radiating off of it. Why not before? "Right bastard." He murmurs. Love. Ezra said they smelled like love. It was all over the frames like a heavy perfume that overwhelms the senses.

"Lamb, I think you were meant to break it. Great Plan and all." He slides his nail under the seal and opens the envelope. It burns for a brief second with faded angelic magic.

Ezra snivels and rubs his eyes with his knuckles. "Really?"

In all their time together Crowley has only ever lied to an angel twice. The first time he'd been in another angel's body so really didn't count that one as much of a lie. "Of course, lamb. I would never lie to you. I'm not upset." He takes out the contents of the envelope.  
"What's in it?"  
"Couple forms."

His hands shake as he unfolds the first. He's seen a copy of this one. It's a rude letter on dingy paper informing Aziraphale that he is now under investigation and will found out in seven to ten business years if he will become one of the Fallen. It's been folded and refolded and only holds together along the creases because Hellish stationery is prone to fits of spite. The second is an equally dingy form. At the top printed so that the kerning is just on the right side of infuriating reads, "Form F4113N."

It's a copy made with angelic magic. The form is filled out in impeccable block letters. The ink is pearlescent blue. At the bottom signed in gold is the true name of the Archangel Gabriel. It stings his eyes. He lets the copy fall. Everything feels very small.   
"Crowley? Crowley!"

Angels used their own feathers to fill out official paperwork. He's seen purple smiley faces from Gabriel on memos and olive green on commendations from Uriel. He'd seen the swirling gold on assignments from Michael.

He's seen pearlescent blue on dozens on post-it reminders around their home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Doon Mackichan, Michael's actress, is an inch taller than Michael Sheen.
> 
> rip @ ya'll


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a lot of time jumping in this one; only one bit is in the crowley/ezra portion

They couldn't light the fireplace for nearly a year. Candles were banned completely and if the stove was on someone had to be in the room watching it. The floor at the center of the shop had to be scrubbed by hand four times.

Memory was funny that way.

The bookshop smelled like old books and the delicate bergamot and violet of Aziraphale's cologne. The backroom is all wine and ink. Their flat is a mix of colognes and, every Saturday, cleaning products. He can still smell it. He can still feel it. He can still hear it. The smell of burning wood and paper. The feel of flames that could not burn him. The roar of the fire and sick, warping of the gramophone.mHe'd always been in the right place at the right time to keep Aziraphale safe. It had happened a hundred times over the years. He could feel the angel from halfway across the world. The sudden void in the world had... He couldn't even put it into words or thoughts.

But it's okay now. It was supposed to be okay now.

The first time it happens is... Bad. The smell of something burning rips him out of his sleep. The bed is empty and cold. He can't feel an angelic presence anywhere in the building. Panic grips his entire body all the way to his wings. They rip forth from the plane just outside of the human one where they usually reside. The clatter of things falling only makes it all worse. It's the sound of beams crashing to the ground. He falls from the bed, breaking the wrist of one of his long wings as it catches awkwardly between bed and table. "Aziraphale! Fuck!" He thrashes and pulls it free. Several onyx feathers rip away but he takes no notice. "Aziraphale!" His body won't cooperate. He sobs. The door looks so far away. "Aziraphale..."

And suddenly the door isn't so far away. It's open and his angel stands in silent horror for what feels like hours. "Crowley! Oh, what have you done to yourself? That's it...You're okay." He drags Crowley into his arms and holds him close. The demon clings to the back of his shirt as he sobs and breathes into the skin of his neck.

"You were gone! I smelled it! Aziraphale where did you go?" A gentle hand strokes the hair along the back of his neck.  
"A shop on the corner caught fire." He presses kisses to the demon's sweaty temple. "I stepped outside to look at the damage. It was nothing, my love. Already taken care of. Let me see your wings."  
Crowley shakes his head and tries to press closer. "You were gone...Gone...Angel..."  
"Don't be silly, my love. I'm here. I'll always be here. I'm so sorry."

The next time he wakes to find no angelic presence in the building there are four yellow post-its around their bedroom all written in pearlescent blue ink that excludes Aziraphale's telltale aura.  
"Popped off to the market."  
"I left at 10:30."  
"I love you."  
"The coffee machine is ready."

Eventually, the raw terror becomes a barely noticeable throb in the back of his mind. The little notes don't stop. He keeps them all.

* * *

"Could we have been wrong?"

Their first meeting after the foiling of the Great Plan had been awkward, to say the least.

"Wrong about what? Trusting two idiotzzz with half a brain cell between them to watch one child for a few yearzzz?"  
"You sound a little bitter, Lord Beelzebub."

They buzz lowly and glare up at him. "There izzz so much paperwork. My hand is cramping." They pause. "...I think it wazzz part of the plan. There wazzz nothing we could do to stop it from being stopped, wazzz there?"  
Gabriel's smile twitches fondly. "I was thinking of it that way too. There must be a greater plan, right? The world ended in fire and flames like it was supposed to... It just didn't end the way we wanted it to."

For the first time in thousands of years, the silence that befalls them is companionable.  
"Say, Beelzebub... Do you remember anything from before?"  
"That'zzz a rude question."  
"Ah. Yes. Right. My apologies. I forget about the whole memory burning... thing."

"...I remember your eyes. Alwayzzz have... Can I....Tell you something?"

* * *

“You do know what you’re asking, don’t you?” Michael gives Aziraphale a once over from head to toe.  
“I need to know, sir. It’s eating away at me. I feel like I’m suffocating under it.” He licks his lips. "I've felt this way for... A very long time." He sets the form down on her desk with no hesitation. 

"How did you even get your hands on this? An angel hasn't fallen in...Six thousand years." She reads it over carefully. It requires the signature of an angel of the rank Archangel or higher and the seal of the Almighty.  
"Yes... Well... It took several very long phone calls and a full six months just to get the form to request the form. I requested the thing in the 40s. It came in the sixties." He wrings his hands.  
"And you're sure?"  
A nod.  
"But why? You're not going to Fall, Aziraphale. You've always been a good angel. We...We were wrong about the Great Plan. I'll be the first to admit that it was not Her plan. You did what you were meant to. You always have. Even during the War you refused to kill. You have always been Good."

He bites his lip and takes a shaky breath. "And I've been afraid since I woke up. Afraid to Fall. Afraid to lose Her love. Afraid to be in love. Have you ever been in love, sir?"  
"I can't say I have."  
"Oh... It's the most wonderful thing. It's not like Her love. It's... Knowing that someone is looking at you, and only you, with all the love in their heart..." He smiles. "If I hadn't been a good angel I could have been happy for so much longer. "

Michael stands and walks around the desk so they're face to face. "Be happy now, Aziraphale. Why would you even ask for such an awful thing if you're happy?"  
"Back then I thought that if...If I Fell... He and I could be together without fear. Now...I need to know if I even belong here. Do I even deserve to be called an angel?"  
"If you Fall you won't even remember him!"

He removes a handkerchief from his pocket to dab at his eyes. "He'll find me. He always finds me. I'm not afraid."

Michael opens her mouth to speak and then slowly nods instead. "Alright. If it goes downhill I will not take responsibility."  
"Thank you."  
"Go before someone sees you."

* * *

She strokes his hair and wipes away his tears. "Do you know what the difference between an angel and a demon is, little brother?" 


	24. Chapter 24

They agree to meet at what humans call a "dive bar." It would almost be charming if it weren't for the heated human glances she feels rove her body as she passes. No human dares do more than look at her. Something inside of them knows.

"Always making an entrance you angels." Ligur gestures to the empty booth seat in front of him. He cleans up well as a human and the lack of a reptile on his head probably contributes the most to that.

"It's in our nature," Michael replies. Her nose curls up at the seat. A wave of her hand brushes away any hint of deep down filth.  
"Fussy, sugar wings."  
"I don't believe that that is the human phrase." She sits down back straight and fingers steepled.  
"Just because I'm a demon don't mean I endorse sexist comments."

She remembers this one from all that time ago. He'd always known everything and always had the best information. There is a piece missing though. "No Hastur?  
Ligur gives a dismissive shrug. "Some things he don't need to know yet. Gotta ease him into things real easy." He drains the beer in front of him and gestures for another. "You called me here. Expected a trap. Not often a demon gets a collect call from an Archangel."  
"I'm sure it set you back quite a bit." She rolls her eyes. "I couldn't have it charged to my celestial account."

The back and forth is...fun. Ligur grins like a bastard and tips his new beer toward her. "So what's it you want? Must've called for more than talking shit."  
Michael taps her fingers on the suddenly clean table. "I think that we should form a...partnership."  
"With you?" His mouth curls into something disgusted. "Bit sudden, eh? I already got one of those. I'm a taken demon and you're not my type."

"Oh good Lord." Her disgusted face is much more refined, she's sure. "A business partnership. I need information on Hell and you need information on Heaven. That's the only way we're ever going to make it to the Apocalypse properly."  
The demon laughs loud but the bar is too loud for anyone to notice. "Funny fuckin' world having an angel such as you come to me for info."  
"In Heaven, you were always the most well informed. Don't think I have so easily forgotten." She twitches her finger and the beer slides to her side of the table.

"I paid no money for that, you damned thief." He calls for another. "Hastur. He's got the watcher sight. Right fucking creepy back in the day. It's dulled now after what your lot did to us. Still there though. M'always one step ahead." His eyes still shift in color in this form. They're a dull blue. "I want something extra in return for this...deal."  
Michael sips the beer. She's visited Earth plenty of times. This is no ale from that brewery in Jerusalem but it will do. She nudges her eyebrows up over the pint glass.  
"Insurance. Something goes to shit with me I don't rightly care. Extinction don't seem so bad sometimes... But you keep him safe. My Hastur... He isn't stupid. Not stupid at all... But they'll trick him. Get into that brain of his and hurt him."

The Archangel sets her glass down. "Odd request for a demon. I was under the impression that you don't feel love."  
"Nah. That's some bullshit we feed the lower ones. Keep'em scared, we say. We don't get shit from Her up there anymore, but we got free will. I love the bastard. Loved him up there. Love him down here. Ain't no difference."

Michael smiles and it is far from angelic. "It seems we have a lot in common, Duke Ligur." She holds out a delicate hand and receives a firm handshake in response.

* * *

  
"I've always loved you. Looking back I see it now...But I finally wanted to do something about it after...Well after you saved me from those idiots Nazis."  
"So why didn't you?"  
"I was afraid... When you...When I told you that you went too fast for me... I almost couldn't resist the temptation to just run away with you."

* * *

"Please don't do this. Please come back." Ezra straddles the demon's lap and shakes his shoulders desperately. Crowley won't move. He won't blink. "Please!" Tears spring to his eyes. He can't read the forms. He doesn't know why this is happening. He hiccups and sniffles. "Wake up, Crowley." He takes the demon's face in his hands. He strokes his thumbs over his cheeks and under his eyes. "I need you. Please come back to me. Let me help you."

Crowley's eyes slowly, slowly focus. He lethargically looks at Ezra's face. His head tips into his hand. "Angel... You're here." He whispers.  
"It's me, Crowley. Ezra. Not...not him. You know that."  
"Why did you leave me?"  
"Crowley..."  
"You wanted to leave me. You must have. What did I do wrong?"

Ezra pulls Crowley's head against his chest. "Oh Crowley... Crowley...He never wanted to leave you. I can promise you that." He hums some meaningless tune and the thing in his chest grows tired.

* * *

She strokes his hair and wipes away his tears. "Do you know what the difference between an angel and a demon is, little brother?" She laughs like a dented bell. "Demons take better care of their wings. That's the difference." Michael cradles him close. "They lose her Grace, but we are of the same stock. I used to think that good and evil were the only options... And then I realized that we have free will...And I used it to try and keep you all safe."

  
Gabriel clings to her sleeve childishly. "So you've lied? All these years you've lied? Raphael...He's not just a dream? He was real?"  
"I watched him spear himself. He chose the Before over Falling or facing trial. I don't know why he did it." She strokes his hair still. "The two of you were shellshocked. Everyone was. It was so easy to lie pretend he was never real. That's the way it works for our kind." 

"Tell me the truth, Michael... Tell me why you're keeping me away from Beelzebub. Tell me why Aziraphale Fell. I want the truth." He pulls out of her tender grasp to look her in the eye.

Michael closes her eyes and when they open there is shame. "Aziraphale asked to be Judged. Angels don't Fall anymore. No one has Fallen since the War. He came to me to sign the paperwork. I don't know why he Fell. He must have been found guilty under some ancient law."

"You let him? You let him do that? Why?" Gabriel's voice rises and falls just as quickly. "He was..." He winces. "He was always your favorite out of the four. He's forgotten everything!"  
"It hurts, doesn't it? The memories are hidden so deep... Most of them forgot their lives during the Fall. Some remember. The demons who remember after the initial Fall have been known to go mad. The pain is apparently too much and they choose the Before. Angels too. It is why I decided to lie and say that demons forget their lives." She tries to push his hair back into place. "I don't want you around Beelzbub because I'm afraid you'll...You'll ask to Fall. I just want to keep you safe. I can't lose another loved one."

"Who else knows, Michael?"  
"The Metatron. Some of the higher-ranking demons know the truth as well. They've created a culture where it's rude to ask about someone's memories of Falling. They have their own lies as well. I had my backchannels, you know that." Her breath hitches slightly. "Beelzebub has gone through horrific pain to remember you. If they were a lesser demon they would have cracked by now. I doubt they're the type to tell you."  
"They love me. I love them. We're best friends. I would go through all the pain in the universe to have them by my side again."

"That's what I'm afraid of."

* * *

  
"I have so many regrets. Too many to name, but there's one thing I have never regretted."  
"Angel?"  
"I have never regretted loving you."


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feed off of your pain and comments. Usually, I abandon fics halfway through

Ezra manages to get Crowley to lie down on a very minimalist couch that doesn't seem very comfortable. He finds a pillow with an ugly, tan tartan pillowcase and props his head up. Then he finds an electric blanket, there had been a half dozen in the bookshop, and tucks him in. "I'll be here waiting." He receives no response. The demon eventually rolls over and seems to sleep.

There is always the feeling of something under his skin. It feeds on the emotions he swallows and rips out of his body when it has been fed too much. For now, it's quiet and he's scared. The flat feels so lonely even though Crowley is never more than a few rooms away. The rooms are mostly bare. There's some tacky red and gold furniture and a black silk bed. A weird statue that is either an angel and a demon fucking or fighting...Or both.

The things that are out of place are what interest him. Crowley said he'd done what he thought the angel would have wanted. Had he tried to hide the truth? It seemed that way. For once nothing was organized. It was clear it had all been hidden away in a rush. There were the photos, of course. Some books he didn't recognize were stacked up against the wall. A haphazard pile of clothes rested on an empty table. On the floor a pile of papers both new and old spillover. Everything smells like love. It smells like the bookshop before... before the thing inside of him hurt Crowley.

But he knows it isn't a physical thing residing in him. He picks up a baby blue button-down and holds it to his nose. Love doesn't fill him up and make his stomach hurt. The smell of love makes him feel warm and calm. He closes his eyes and breathes in. It was him. He was causing the pain and fear and sadness that radiated off of Crowley. He was the one taking pleasure in harming humans. He sits down among the piles of things that once belonged to a being so much better than he could manage to be.

Crowley told him stories of his time before his "retirement." He didn't hurt the humans that didn't deserve it. He nudged them along to cause havoc among themselves, but his favorite great deed of evil was moving some markers around to create a very annoying roadway. He actively stopped Ezra from truly hurting anyone even though he knew Ezra would lash out at him. He was nice. He was a demon and he was nice. It didn't make sense. 

A photo of the angel and Crowley watches him. "If...If I'm made from you then why am I like this?" His tears drip onto the shirt turning it dark blue. "Why can't I be nice? Why can't I be good? Crowley is good. He must have... Demons must be able to do it!" The smiling angel doesn't answer. "I don't want to be like this. It doesn't feel good anymore. I want him to look at me the way he does when he thinks of you! I want to be good!" The beast roars inside of him and nearly breaks the surface, but a hand on his shoulder quells it.

"You're looking at the wrong things." Crowley looks awful. There's nothing behind his eyes and his hair is not perfectly sleep mussed. It looks greasy and limp. "Ă̵̰ẓ̷̣̒̾̓ͅi̸̭̠̇͆̒̚r̷͇͇̔̾̉̊ͅa̷̳͔̫̼̿́́p̵̖̹͖̞͊̚͝h̶̫̑͛̍͜a̸̲̝͒̋l̵̥̤͗̓̂e̴͎̤͔̠̍̋͂̅ was a bastard. He wasn't good or nice. He wasn't anything but himself, really." He slowly sits down on the ground with Ezra. He stretches his legs out. "He was selfish. He was mean. He was fussy. He was jealous." He leans his whole weight onto the other demon.

"Crowley?" He butts his head against him a little. Ezra stroked his greasy hair because somewhere in his mind he knows its what Crowley is silently asking for. "He... He was an angel. Angels are good and nice. Demons are bad and mean." The shirt gets taken away so Crowley can hold it close to his chest.  
"No. We're told to be bad. We're told to be mean. Ă̵̰ẓ̷̣̒̾̓ͅi̸̭̠̇͆̒̚r̷͇͇̔̾̉̊ͅa̷̳͔̫̼̿́́p̵̖̹͖̞͊̚͝h̶̫̑͛̍͜a̸̲̝͒̋l̵̥̤͗̓̂e̴͎̤͔̠̍̋͂̅ performed temptations for me when I needed him to and I performed his miracles. He possessed a body. Angels aren't supposed to be able to do that. Demons aren't supposed to perform miracles." He stares at everything in front of them. "Once you realize that angels and demons are just rival companies... It gets easier. We don't have to do anything, Ezra. We aren't bound to what some prick boss tells us we have to be. The only thing that's really different between an angel and a demon is that we don't sense love anymore. "  
"But...I can sense love."  
"Then you're not a very good demon, are you?"

* * *

They agree to the meeting because the calls and messages won't stop. They had tried to burn the letters but more kept popping up written in that annoying, purple chicken scratch Gabriel dared call handwriting. Their personal line buzzed so often they unplugged it and the damned thing still rang.

They do not meet at their usual bench. It feels wrong now.

Gabriel shuffles his feet. He looks like a big, stupid dog who's just been scolded.  
"You called me here, Archangel Gabriel. If you're just going to waste my time tell me now." Beelzebub crosses their arms over their chest. The anger had become an emotional hurt days ago. It was better when it was just pure rage.

"Yes. I did." He wrings his hands and looks everywhere but the Lord of the Flies. "I'm sorry. I never should have ignored you. I never should have missed our meeting."  
"Fuck you."  
Gabriel smiles barely. Idiot. "Michael... Gave me bad advice. I know better now."

Beelzebub considers his slightly hunched posture and his hopeful purple eyes. "She told you, did she? Bout the angelzzz?" A sharp nod. "The truth about Azzziraphale?" Another nod.  
"It hurt you to remember? You knew it would hurt, didn't you?" He's uncharacteristically quiet when he asks.

Beelzebub shoves their hands in the pocket of their hoodie. Their fly buzzes from under the hood. "It happened to Hastur first. No one knew that we could remember after the Fall. We decided to tell them that asking about memoriezzz wazzz rude. Even demonzzz have some mannerzzz... But then Hastur snapped. Found him in hizzz residence screaming and screaming. I saw hizzz Being. Light was coming from a huge piece that wazzz missing. He started seeing thingzzz. He thought Ligur wazzz still alive. We let him believe... Until it broke him."

Gabriel clutches his own chest. "But how? Our souls can't break."  
Beelzebub looks at him, him under all the human shell and the image he'd been given by the Almighty. Gabriel's Being is round and bouncy and glows with all the joy in the world... But there's a dark crack snaking through it. It throbs lavender. "You remembered something, didn't you? It hurts like a fucking bitch, I tell you. Feelzzz the same as when She takezzz her Grace." They take several steps forward to lessen the gap between them. There hasn't been a gap in so long. "Memoriezzz are funny like that. Some of them make you happy. Some of them hurt."

Gabriel leans down and wraps them up in his arms. "Michael has been lying to us all for thousands of years. I'm afraid to know what else she's been hiding."  
Beelzebub hums soothingly. "That one...Always playing different angles."

* * *

"How long was I asleep?" Crowley steps out of the shower and takes the towel Ezra offers him. He always liked a good, burning hot shower. Ezra had refused to leave the room and had sat primly on the closed lid of the toilet waiting. It's only slightly awkward, but being naked around Aziraphale had never been awkward. They'd spotted each other dozens of times back when public baths were still popular. Ezra didn't stare at least.

"Three days." Crowley is very certainly Ezra is looking even though his face is pointed at the far wall. He knows about those damned eyes. He roughs the towel through his hair before wrapping it around his hips.

"Nnk...Could be worse I guess." He still doesn't feel like himself. He doesn't think he ever will. Aziraphale wanted to Fall. THat's the only explanation...And here sits the demon he created. Aziraphale wanted to Fall and he wanted to forget.

"Can we...Talk about what you found?" Ezra has been uncharacteristically shy and quiet after their little chat on the floor.  
Crowley stands at the mirror and starts to comb out his hair. The slowness of human methods of grooming grounds him for now. "... He filled out the form to Fall. It was his handwriting."  
"No. There's a logical explanation for this I'm sure."

The comb snaps. He miracles up another. "The logical explanation is that he did it and it has been done." It's his turn to snarl and rage. "And this is it. This is my life now. Stuck with you! You who...Who fucking destroys my things! Who digs right into every insecurity! Who likes to hurt!" A strong hand grabs his wrist before he can smash the mirror. "Let go... Let go." He croaks. He can't bring himself to let his rage out physically onto another being.

"I can't." Ezra presses his forehead to Crowley's bare, slightly damp shoulder. "I can't let you hurt yourself." The demon goes limp and uses the counter to hold himself up. "There has to be something we can do... I want so badly to make you happy. I thought I was. Hearing about your life before...Seeing the evidence... I know an apology won't make it better but... I didn't know." His voice catches. "I thought I was making you happy. It felt right. When you were sad it tasted so good. When you cried... I thought it's what it was supposed to be like."

Crowley closes his eyes. The only sound is their slow, artificial breeding the drip of the showerhead. He can feel the sincerity. It's not like Aziraphale. His angel was spoiled and expected things because Crowley had always given in to his every little request. He was a real bastard, but he was good. He wasn't nice, no. Crowley was the nice one. Ezra isn't nice or good. He's not really mean or evil either. He's somewhere lost in between and he's scared.

"I want to remember. You said it's possible. I want to remember. Please help me, Crowley. I don't want to be like this anymore."

"Now war arose in heaven, Michael and his angles fighting against the dragon. And the dragon and his angles fought back." Crowley whispers. He opens his reptilian eyes and stares at himself in the mirror. "I have a very, very stupid idea, lamb."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's very hard to edit Bee's sections because autocorrect goes crazy.
> 
> So we're at about the last third or so as far as the actual main storyline. There's some flashbacks I can add, but I'm not sure if you all want me to just get to the damned point 
> 
> Also someone asked me so here's my [kofi link](https://ko-fi.com/kitchenn)


	26. Chapter 26

Michael taps her quill against her perfectly white desk. Had it been a mistake to tell Gabriel the truth? The truth was bound to come out eventually. He'd already started asking all the right questions that no angel should ask. He was too smart for his own good.

She shakes her head and looks at the form in front of her. It was a standard Hell to Heaven passport form. Most demons just called reception and asked to be transferred. They didn't generally visit.

The handwriting was messy, but legible. It had been signed with two demonic signatures: one yellow and one blue. Under the yellow in small letters read "Anthony J. Crowley." The blue sigil was signed with an X. It was a bad idea. She knew it was a bad idea. She could feel it in her wings. They would ask questions. They would demand answers. That Crowley had been a problem since he first painted his hair.

Tap tap tap.

She signs off on her approval and sends the form to the processing office.

* * *

"He should not be alive. His lifeforce was barely hanging on. I healed what I could, but his form will be in pain."

Everything was muffled and his head hurt something awful. There was another pain there but he couldn't place where it was coming from.

"Ah...You're awake!" Michael. That's Michael. She strokes his cheek gently. "Give it a moment. Don't try and sit up."

His eyes focus slowly. His hearing is still fuzzy but it's coming back. "What... What happened?" The last thing he remembers is falling and falling and falling. He'd hit the white sand of Earth and then blacked out.  
"You survived, soldier. Against all odds." She looks...Sad. He's never seen Michael sad.

"And everyone else?" He tries hard to remember. "My brothers? Everyone?"  
She cups his cheek. "What brothers, Aziraphale? You were formed alone. Poor thing... The fall must have really shaken you."  
"No...I'm sure I had...There were four of us."  
She coos. "Get some more rest. I'll fill you in when you're more coherent."

He sleeps, or what passes as sleep for an angel. The next time he wakes things are much more clear and the pain is much worse. He forces himself to sit up. There is an ugly red scar running horizontally across his thigh as if someone had tried to take the whole leg. It hurts down to the bone. He's never felt anything like this before.

"You should not be moving around." Michael is back. She looks as prim and proper as ever in soft, gauzy robes. She kneels at his side and pets his cheek. "I know it hurts. Unfortunately, this was the best the healers could do. Your wings were shattered. Your back as well. You nearly bled out."

"But...How?" The fighting is all fuzzy. He can smell the blood...Hear the screams... The sound of metal clashing against metal. He can feel the heat of stars falling to the Firmament.  
"Who knows, Aziraphale. We found you like that. It's a mystery really. You fought well." She pauses. "You defended well. Your soul is pure. You never killed."

He pinches the bridge of his nose. He knows he's forgetting something. The feeling fades and he's left only with the pain. He looks out to the great expanse of Heaven. It looks different. The beautiful sky is gone. They're inside an enclosed space. Rows and rows of windows show the massive desert on Earth. "Where are we?"  
"In Heaven, soldier."  
"And...Where is everyone?"

Michael looks sad again. "God cast the Rebels out. They reside deep down. They are called demons now and they are evil. They no longer feel her Love."  
Aziraphale's heart breaks for them. "All of them?"  
"...Some did not survive. They exist in the Before." She presses a kiss to his forehead that soothes the pain for the moment. "The Almighty has commanded that you return to your post as soon as you feel that you are ready. You will be given a human shell. It will not feel the pain as your celestial body does."  
He smiles barely. "She is merciful."  
"She loves you, Aziraphale."

* * *

They're brought into the offices one by one. The lines are very, very long and very, very boring. There are many lines and many offices.

"I am Dagon, Lord of the Files. Demon, what do you call yourself?" The demon before him has sharp teeth and scales cover their face.  
"I...am Crawly." He pushes his long, red waves out of his face. "So named by Beelzebub." He hates this place. It's cold and damp and too crowded. It's nothing like the vast expanse of Heaven.

He wraps his arms around himself in an attempt to retain some warmth. The thin robes they'd been given offer little protection.  
"And what do you remember of Heaven, Crawly?"  
"...Everything." It comes out as a whisper. "From my Creation to...To the Fall."

Dagon writes something down and then flips through a stack of paperwork and slides a form toward him. He's never seen a form before. He's never seen words before and yet the symbols all make sense.

"Demon Crawly, our lord and master has decided that you will be sent to Earth. You are to hinder the angel that has been stationed there. Sign here. We need you to go up there and make some trouble."

* * *

Things are...Different. The betrayal still stings. He thinks the pain will never go away... But he will get his answers... In about one business year. Hell was very slow with passport paperwork especially if you were a highly dangerous traitor.

"I made you a coffee."

Ezra was not Aziraphale, but sometimes he could imagine nothing had changed. There were periods where Ezra was perfectly sweet and kind with just a hint of the fussy bastard he really was. He would smile endearments or bring Crowley coffee when he lay in bed drawing. He held his hand or scooted closer and closer until they were sitting shoulder to shoulder while out in public. He was overly cheery with bookshop patrons in a manner that made them just uncomfortable enough to leave. He indulged in fixing bookbindings and going through old photographs. When Crowley read to him he settled against him so close that his white hair tickled his nose and the scent of his cologne filled his nostrils. He followed along with his finger and tried to put names to the swirling figures he sees.

Some days his moods snapped. He was an exemplary demon. He was clever and knew exactly what it would take to cause waves of evil. He grew violent toward Crowley or innocent humans. Crowley's skin was marked with scratches and bruises. Crowley miracled them away with a wave of his hand. He snarled out insults meant to pull every string that kept Crowley together. He destroyed things he knew Crowley loved. Thank Someone those moods were becoming few and far between. They worked together on Ezra's self control. Crowley learned to sense the moods before they came. He learned what would calm his counterpart. Ezra learned to apologize. He cried and cried and begged forgiveness. He didn't want to hurt anyone. He wanted to commit mischief and not inflict pain.

The best days were the almosts. The days Ezra would smile and stroke his cheek while calling him his pet. The days Ezra asked for a cup of coffee and commented that Crowley always made it just right. He could seduce any human into being a better servant, but he chose Crowley because his love tasted the best. The days he would kiss Crowley’s wedding ring and promise to help take an edge off of the pain.

Ezra was not Aziraphale, but he was trying to be someone worth being around.

"Did you now? And what is it that you want in return?" Crowley sits back in his seat by the window. In the early afternoon, the light was absolutely perfect for sunbathing and drawing. He smiles slow and easy as he takes the steaming cup. He chuckles at the poor attempt at latte art. Ezra had taken to watching videos online. The voice to text function and screen reading were very helpful.

"I can't just make you a coffee?" The white haired demon puts his hands on his hips. "Must I always have an ulterior motive?"

Crowley takes a purposefully loud sip. Aziraphale had always manipulated him. He'd indulged him because he loved him and loved to see him smile even more. He was happy to indulge his little whims. A pout for a cup of tea or a quick trip to an old bookshop? Harmless. Ezra had manipulated him because of the power he could exert. He batted his eyelashes for help with temptations and mayhem. He was changing. He was trying to change. Deep down he still has Aziraphale's high maintenance streak.

Ezra huffs and puffs when he doesn't get a response. "I want you to wash my hair. I made you coffee. You have to wash my hair." He crosses his arms over his chest and pouts at the wall.

Another loud sip. "It would be my pleasure, lamb."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bet you guys forgot that Heaven and Hell love paperwork


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bless thee who sent me money on kofi
> 
> i bought
> 
> ....burrito

The confirmation letter comes informing them that their Hell to Heaven passport application was accepted by both parties and the proper documentation would arrive within six to twelve business months.

“Why can’t we just go up there? They won’t stop us. You’d said they think you’re immune to holy water.” Ezra takes the letter as if he can read it. He can make out a few words like Hell and Heaven but everything is still too jumbled to properly read.

“Storming up there will get us both discorporated or worse. S'more ways to kill a demon than holy water. Even if we go up and take the main entrance we'll probably get skewered.” He takes the letter back. “We’ll wait. It will give her time to simmer and wonder.” He presses a gentle kiss to Ezra’s temple. “And we’ll take that time to work on helping you.”  
Ezra scrunches his nose. “I still think it would be more fun...”

* * *

Ezra keeps the portrait of Crowley and Aziraphale posed outside of the bookshop. It sits on the shelf above his desk in a new frame and watches his every move.

Something feels different and yet familiar. He doesn't feel like he's suddenly a different person He doesn't feel like he's losing himself. There's no doubt that he can feel something happening. He wants to be kinder. He doesn't find himself caring much about the humans. They are blips on his radar. They are strange creatures running as fast as they can just to end up in purgatory (there was a paperwork backlog in Heaven and Hell). Despite this, he doesn't want to hurt them. He wants to mildly inconvenience them and piss them off. His desire for kindness was also fueled by more than just Crowley. Being on the edge of anger constantly is been draining. It was still draining to try and fight back the anger but when he was able to... It was what he imagined flying to feel like.

“I made you a coffee.”

A black mug with a stylized demon’s tail handle is set in front of him. Crowley wraps his hand around his throat with fingertips resting just under his ears. He pulls him closer and leans in to kiss his forehead. There is no pressure but the effect is calming. Ezra knows that he would have never treated the angel like this.

“Did you now? What do you want in return?” He slouches in his seat and mock’s Crowley’s decidedly more lax accent. He uses his finger and thumb to make circles with both hands that he puts over his eyes like glasses. “Oh yes. I’m Crowley. I’ve clearly been educated but I don’t want anyone to think that so I talk like this. ”

He tastes embarrassment and annoyance but there’s nothing mouthwatering about it. It’s not the greatest thing he’s ever tasted. It tastes like t̸̘͊͒ơ̴̜͗a̷̹̰͂͒s̸͓͔̅t̸͓͒ ̴̩̣̈́w̸̡̭͋̐į̸̼̊͘t̷̤͓̊h̷͔͎͠ ̸̖͑͝b̷̮̋͜͝ũ̴̹̝̾t̵̠̼̊t̵̻͓̅̈́e̸͕͔̎̽ȓ̶͚̌. Nice and simple.

Crowley cuffs him on the ear with all of the force of the wind blowing your hair out of place. “Don’t be a prick. I’ll take it right back.”

And this is so much easier. He still feels Crowley’s eyes on him when he moves too suddenly or approaches too quickly. The other demon will revert to shaking hands and fear if Ezra doesn’t phrase things correctly. He still gets bloated with the unpleasantness of it. It’s taking time and will continue to take time, but the atmosphere in the bookshop isn’t as tense. He’d never realized there was an oppressive, heavy thing hanging around them. Seeing this new side made it very obvious in hindsight. Crowley smiles more. He laughs more. He teases more. There’s still so much sadness in his eyes but he’ll be blessed if he’s not doing as much as he can to try and coax out a little more joy in the demon who has taken care of him.

Ezra grabs the mug and takes a sip. It’s burning hot and made with just the right amount of milk and sugar. He wiggles in his seat and lets out a happy sigh. “What is the occasion?”  
Crowley shoves his hands in his pockets and shrugs. “Made myself some. Made you some.”

That was the hardest lesson to learn. Sometimes people did things just because. There was no motive of wanting something in return. There was no reason to try and force and bribe every favor. Crowley made him the coffee because he made him the coffee. It made him happy. Done. He was still trying to internalize that one.

“Well... Thank you. I was thinking of getting up anyway.”  
Crowley leans back against the desk with his own mug. “Long day watching unboxing videos?” He nudges him. Reading eludes him and he very strongly feels that he will never learn more than the few very basic things he's picked up. Videos give him a way to learn and keep busy.  
“They’re very entertaining, I’ll have you know... But no. I was... watching a presentation about anxiety.”  
“Nnk... Boring.” Crowley holds his mug to his face, but Ezra can see the crinkle of his eyes as he smiles.

* * *

"We'll take things slow, dearest."

Demons were not particularly verbally affectionate. They weren't really physically affectionate either, but they were very used to constantly shuffling against each other in the long halls of Hell and fornication was encouraged. Crowley wasn't used to either. He'd been with humans over all of his years. He really wasn't as experienced as he let on. He could think of maybe a hundred humans and a few demons in his six thousand years on Earth. There had been an angel or two back before the War, but he couldn't remember how enjoyable that had been so it wasn't even worth mentioning. None of those experiences involved cuddling and soft kisses and holding hands.

Aziraphale was much more experienced in all of those factors and Crowley very purposefully pretended he wasn't. He still didn't believe that he and Wilde had been just friends and there was no way he and Byron only chatted.

"It's fine, angel. I'm not some delicate flower."

They sit, as they always sit, on their conveniently empty bench overlooking the pond in St. James Park. It has been only a few weeks since they had finally, finally admitted six thousand years of pent up feelings. That night they'd kissed and held each other and fallen asleep together.

When they were alone they still kissed and held each other and fell asleep together... But Crowley was having a few issues now that things were Permanent. For once he was terrified to touch Aziraphale without permission. The angel had always pulled himself away from even the most casual of touches. It had become a habit to not touch lest he scare the angel away. Second, words did not flow freely from his brain to his mouth. He wanted nothing more than to declare his love for his angel from the rooftops. He could only grunt and sputter when Aziraphale smiled and told him that he loved him. He found himself slipping out of Aziraphale's arms when the angel tried to turn their kisses more heated or when his pretty hands wandered. 

The angel scoots closer on the bench. His shoulder brushes Crowley's arm where he has it stretched along the back of the bench and he scoots even closer so that their legs as pressed together. "Is this okay?"  
Crowley knows his face is red. He nods stiffly. His fingers twitch as he forces himself not to touch Aziraphale's soft hair. "Nnk."  
The angel slowly leans in and rests his head on Crowley's shoulder. "And this?"  
He was burning up. "Mmhm." It came out awkwardly high pitched.

Aziraphale smiled up at him encouragingly. "You can put your arm here." He touches his own shoulder. "Or touch my hair. I know you like to touch my hair. It's okay, Crowley. I'm not afraid anymore. I'm so sorry."

He takes a deep breath. Aziraphale said it was okay. He wouldn't run away if he said it was okay, right? He goes with the safest option and slides his arm around Aziraphale's shoulders. He squeezes him just a little closer.  
Aziraphale smiles so wide and so bright that it almost hurts to look at him. His hands are in his lap and he looks like the perfect vision of bliss. "We really have been missing out."


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Canon: When Bee gets flustered they accidentally set things on fire

_crowley_watch_me_1.mov_

"I hope you never have to see this. I hope that you're only seeing this because you were a nosy little snake. This sort of sounds like one of those spy novels you like so much, doesn't it? And don' tell me you don't read them."

* * *

"You really aren't anything like her."

They sit together not in the middle of Central Park all hidden away, but at a table, in front of the Starbucks they always buy a beverage from.  
"You don't have a harp."  
"Lyre."  
"Huh? You have a harp. Where?"

Beelzebub rolls their eyes. "It was a lyre, not a harp."  
"Oh... Yes. As I was saying, you're not like her, but you are her." Gabriel holds the Prince of Hell's hand over the table. "You're not a her anymore, obviously, and you're not as...Well, you were never nice. Always serious. She was a little airier." They haven't ever really talked about the process. Sitting here as best friends out in the open... It made it feel okay. For the first time, he feels like he isn't going to be punished for having a friend.

Beelzebub shrugs. "Because I'm not her. Just because I've got the same memories doesn't make me someone else. Did you expect some weird transformation? White wings all of sudden? Celestial harmonies?"  
Gabriel makes a taunting face at them. "No! It's just...Different. You're so similar. You'd both kick my ass, that's for sure." His goofy expression turns soft. "It's like the best parts of her are in you and combined... Well, I'm happy we're friends. That's all I'm trying to say."

Beelzebub pinkens slightly. "It doesn't bother you... That I only want to be friends? That I don't...Not like before?"  
"Why would it? We still get to be together! I get to hold your hand and share beverages with you. You make me smile, Bee... Please put out that fire."

* * *

  
Crowley stretches his legs out and sets his feet on the coffee table. Aziraphale would have slapped his leg and scolded him, but Ezra takes the laid back pose as a chance to lean into his chest. He can't say he minds the affection. Ezra likes to touch just as much as Crowley does. His favorite activity is to dress Ezra, not unlike a doll. He liked to brush his hair and button his shirts. He wouldn't tie his shoes only because he never actually learned how to tie shoes. Ezra liked to hold Crowley's hand or lean against his body. He played in his red hair or stroked his cheeks. He knew, deep down, that it should feel wrong.

  
Ezra was not his husband. Ezra was not Aziraphale and what they were doing wasn't appropriate. They were going to storm up to Heaven, proper paperwork in hand, and demand answers from that bitch Michael. She was going to give Aziraphale back... But Aziraphale wasn't here.

"Can we...Lay together?"  
Crowley's eyes go wide. He tries to keep his cool but that most certainly does not work at all in any way. "Hnnk... What?"  
Ezra smiles up at him. "You know? It would be more comfortable. You seem like a little spoon kind of demon." He waves his hand at the television.  
Oh. Ohhhhhh. He hesitates. It's just laying together, right? "Yeah. Don't see why not, lamb. Grab the blanket. I'm cold."

* * *

_crowley_watch_me_2.mov_

"I get to call you my husband now. I never imagined I would get married. I sort of imagined I would live in the, as you know the humans call it, the closet for...Eternity. What was it that you told William all those years ago?

Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale  
Her infinite variety. Other women cloy  
The appetites they feed, but she makes hungry...

Yes, I'm quoting Shakespeare. I'm sure you're making that face. I was so afraid that age would wither me... That you would grow tired of me...Grow tired of waiting. I'm such a selfish bastard. My Anthony...My own Antony. I'm no Cleopatra, but I see it every day how much you love me. You hang on my every word. I pray you never see this."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone not familiar with [Shakespeare-ese](https://www.sparknotes.com/nofear/shakespeare/antony-and-cleopatra/page_84/)
> 
> If you really hate yourself read [Sonnet 29](https://www.sparknotes.com/nofear/shakespeare/sonnets/sonnet_29/)


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prepare for a series of smaller chapters

"We don't tell'em, nah. Tell'em not to look at anyone's Being either. Demon'll do anything if you growl enough." Again they sit in the dingy dive bar with a beer and a bowl of nuts. She doesn't eat the nuts but Ligur doesn't seem to care what human food he eats. "Big Boss don't want them figuring it all out."

Michael sits back in thought. "I have noted your Being is not solely black... Apologies for looking without asking." Ligur is crude and crass and downright unpleasant, but it's a welcomed change from the artificial sterility of Heaven.  
"Yeah. Memories leave holes and cracks and shit. S'why we tell'em not to ask or to look. All of us got some memories from up there. Hastur remembered me for a while after we Landed, but it went away. He's got this one spot like a fukin' freckle. That Crowley is nearly half and half. Don't trust that one." He drains his drink and calls for another.

"An angel hasn't Fallen since the initial Fall. I'm not even sure we can anymore."  
"Oh, we got a form for that. Saw it once couple decades ago. Don't think no one ever used it before. What's the point if it's all going to end in War?" Ligur frowns at his new beer. "What happens after? Humans get judged and what about us? What happened to the ones who didn't make it out the first time?"  
"Can I trust a demon to keep a secret?"  
"Only if you buy me another drink."

She had been almost sad when the news came that the demon Ligur had been murdered. She had felt merciful when she'd gotten a frantic call from an old friend's number asking for something only an angel could get their hands on.

* * *

_crowley_watch_me_3.mov_

"Maybe we're having a good laugh about this right now. You're telling me I'm an idiot and that it never could have happened in the first place. Am I sleeping on the couch? ...I don't want this to be wishful thinking."

* * *

"You're having a laugh up there, aren't you?" He stares up at the ceiling. One hand rests behind his head and the other cards through downy soft curls. "Crowley the fuck up. Crowley can't follow the rules. Crowley can't keep'em closed."

His body aches in the best way, but his heart and his very soul ache with sickness. "I'm lonely. Haven't been lonely in six thousand years. I looked up at him and I knew... I knew... But he's gone. I can feel it. He left me. He abandoned me!" The body laying on top of his stirs.  
"Crowley?" Ezra blinks slow and sleepy. "What're you doing?"  
"Just... Just had a weird dream." He rolls over so Ezra can wrap him up in his arms. He's so much warmer than any other body he's laid next to. His electric blanket has been shoved down to the bottom of the bed by their feet.

  
Gentle kisses pepper his forehead. "Get some sleep. You need it." One of his hands wanders down to give Crowley's slightly sore backside a firm squeeze.  
He swallows and nuzzles under Ezra's chin. "Yeah....Yeah."

* * *

_crowley_watch_me_4.mov_

"Do you think I'll still look the same? Oh, that's far too morbid... I hope I still look the same. You're so beautiful. I wish I could have seen you as an angel. Maybe I did. Did I? Oh...How would you remember? I know you remember your stars... After all of this we should take a trip to celebrate. We'll do somewhere where the whole sky is filled with stars."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to give those bits proper titles to make it clear (though no one seemed confused)


	30. Chapter 30

crowley_watch_me_5.mov

"I think I'm starting to have regrets. It's been five years with no word. I don't want to Fall, Crowley. I don't. I want to be with you until kingdom come. It will come... We can't keep stopping the end of the world, can we? We can't keep them safe forever. Whatever happens to our kind once we die... I want to be next to you. I want to hold your hand and let it wash over me. "

* * *

crowley_watch_me_6.mov

"If you haven't realized it by now I am the one who filled out the paperwork. I need to know, darling. I need to know if I'm worthy of being an angel. I need to know if I'm worthy of Her love. I feel the weight of the question burning away at me. It hurts. Maybe I won't Fall. All these years of lying to you and hiding it... Maybe this is my test. The Almighty is making me suffer through this stress so that I can repent for all I've done. I know you're angry. I know you're hurt. Please don't hate me."

* * *

crowley_watch_me_7.mov

"Seven to ten business years. What a stupid way to measure time. You demons really do things at your own pace, don't you? It's year seven. Nothing has come from Heaven or Hell. Oh, Crowley... I love you. You still look at me like I'm the center of your universe. The Earth revolves around the Sun, my love. You are my Sun."

* * *

crowley_watch_me_8.mov

"I"m scared now. I know you've noticed something changes every year around this time. You always ask what's wrong and I lie. I've lied to you so many times that sometimes I fear the truth will spill out of me. I feel bloated with it like I've eaten too much. Only a few more years. Your people are slow, but they don't break their word. Seven to ten business years... Two more to go."

* * *

crowley_watch_me_9.mov

"I filed the paperwork. Me! What a stupid, stupid man I am. I received it days after I gave you that thermos of holy water. I was so afraid you were going to get yourself killed or...Or end yourself of me. If I Fell we could be together without fear. I was too much of a coward before. I had asked for the damned form during the Blitz. I held onto it for all this time. I'm afraid, my love. I'm afraid to forget you. I'm afraid you won't love what I become. I know it's foolish. You would tear down the moon for me, stupid man. My stupid man. If I could take it back I would. I would tear it into a million pieces and live together with you forever. I would do anything to take it back. I would give up my books. I would never taste a morsel of food again. Name it and I would do it just to be by your side."

* * *

crowley_watch_me_10.mov

"I love you more than I have ever loved anything. My love for you is greater than my love for Her. Oh...It is my greatest sin, isn't it? I've seen your eyes, my love, when we watch Hamlet for the, what is it you claim? Thousandth time? You always tear up at Hamlet's letter.

Doubt thou the stars are fire,  
Doubt that the sun doth move,  
Doubt truth to be a liar,  
But never doubt I love.

I know what I've done. I know how much I've hurt you over the years, but please believe me! Please! I did it because I wanted to be able to be with you properly! I swear... Do not doubt my love for you. You're my everything.

This is the last year. I made this video early because I'm so afraid. I made a mistake, Crowley. I know that now. I know I'm meant to be at your side Heaven and Hell be damned! Call me an angel or a devil or whatever you wish! I don't care! I don't care...

I am going to Fall, darling. Sometimes I think I can feel it already happening. I wish I could remember you. I know I won't forget your eyes. You are a dragon, my sweet Crowley. You charged into Heaven ready to die for me. I'm no princess...I'm not a prince... I'm just a bastard who got lucky.

If you are watching this then it should be our anniversary. Am I beside you? In whatever form I take?

I love you, Crowley. I'm so sorry for what I've done. I'm sorry for what has been done. I hope you love whatever I am. I hope you forgive whatever I am. 

* * *

Crowley's bedside table vibrates. From inside Aziraphale's phone buzzes loud and annoying. He sleepily digs it out and turns off the sound. He hasn't dared look through the device since he'd stashed it away. An alarm sounds again less than thirty seconds later and another and another and another.

October 29  
Crowley: Open the video folder

  
October 29  
Crowley: Open the video folder

  
October 29  
Crowley: Open the video folder

October 29  
Crowley: Open the video folder

October 29  
Crowley: Open the video folder

October 29  
Crowley: Open the video folder


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Super mild sexual content. Like salt and pepper mild

The mobile is snatched out of his hand just as a slow crack started to edge its way across the screen. "Give it back!" His eyes are wide and feral gold. Flesh-colored scales ripple down his body and his mouth contorts and widens so far that it looks like he might eat the demon before him.

Ezra holds the device close to his chest. "No. You will not destroy this, Crowley. You don't want to destroy it!" He rolls backward off of their bed and lands on his feet. He actually hadn't known he was able to do that, but that was a concern for a time when he wasn't being attacked by an enraged serpent. "Come back to yourself!"

"Fuck you! Fuck you! Give it back!" Crowley doesn't try to move past the bed. Red hot tears stream down his blotchy cheeks. "Bastard... Give...Give it back."

Ezra looks at the cracked phone. Aziraphale and Crowley are laying on the old, comfortable sofa downstairs. Crowley has his head on Aziraphale's chest and they're both smiling at the camera. He feels something snap in his chest like a thread pulled too tight. "Not until you calm down. I can't let you destroy what you love."

* * *

"We can stop." Ezra plays with Crowley's sweaty fringe. The lanky demon's shirt is rucked up exposing pale skin, a smattering of ginger body hair, and only two nipples. Ezra is no better off. His button-down is missing several buttons and hangs loosely off of his frame. This was not their first time in this compromising position.

Crowley had prompted their first kiss.  
Crowley had been the first to pull Ezra against his body.  
Crowley was always the one to stop them.

The first time he had covered his face and cried his shame. Ezra hadn't pushed, but it felt like a slap in the face when the other demon had cried about missing his husband. He knew he would always be second best until they got their answers and went through with whatever Crowley had cooked up.

The next time and the next he had stopped Ezra with a gentle shake of his head. He fully expected the same to happen now.

"No." Crowley spreads his legs to give Ezra more room to lay between them. "Don't stop."

* * *

Michael tap tap taps her quill against her desk. She is the final signature needed to allow two demons to waltz right into Heaven. One is immune to Holy Water and the other made of an angel immune to Hellfire. The very idea of what sort of abomination has been created sends shivers down her spine. The Earth Observation Files have shown nothing out of the ordinary and the files Beelzebub had sent up registered the usual misuse of power to refill coffee cups. There was little mayhem and only some mischief. She still didn't trust it.

She signs her name and sets the form aside. It's quickly whisked away to Earth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone asked on Tumblr, at this point it's been about a year since Aziraphale fell. He fell just as snow started to fall in winter (Novemberish?) and now it's obviously October.
> 
> Also, I think it might be unclear:  
> Zira ordered the form after the church scene  
> He received it about the time he gave Crowley the holy water and he filled it out  
> He didn't ask Michael to sign it until sometime before the apocalypse or very shortly after.
> 
> If someone could help me out finding bits that would clear that up I would be forever doki doki


	32. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're actually nearing the end I think

"We should do something to celebrate." Crowley drapes himself over Aziraphale's back as the angel shelves books. Some human had had the nerve to pick out a stack and try to buy them.  
"Celebrate what, darling?" Aziraphale bares the weight easily. Crowley is prone to using him as a pillar.

"Ten years, angel. Ten years of freedom!" He sets his chin on top of Aziraphale's head. "We could go on a trip. Somewhere really nice. We could go wherever you want."

Soon. It's coming soon.

"We shouldn't make plans too early, pet. We should be spontaneous." He turns so he can look up at his husband properly. Crowley contorts to drape his arms over his shoulders again.  
"You've never been spontaneous..."  
"Well, it's as good a time as any to start, hm?"

* * *

It hurts every single time. The first time had felt like a bolt of lightning straight to the heart. As time went on the pain was easier to bear. He grits his teeth and held in the pained screams he wanted nothing more than to let out.

Remembering hurt.

Every little memory added to the crack in his Being. He could see it in the mirror if he chose to look close enough. His black, eldrich being swirled and roiled with glimmers of light. He'd seen the same effect in Crowley's being. It was beautiful and terrifying.

He remembered the jump of his heartbeat when the demon had slithered next to him on the wall. Gorgeous. He'd been so gorgeous.

There was a glimpse of golden eyes daring him to call out as children huddled around his form. He had pushed another barrel of feed toward the corner to block them from sight.

He felt her sadness as they watched an innocent man being nailed to a cross begging for his father. The stories would get it wrong. The great serpent had only wanted to save him.

"You will not trick me into gagging down mucus!" The oysters had been wonderful.

The smell of too much bad ale in a small, dusty inn somewhere he had been too drunk to even remember the name of. Their lips had brushed. They never spoke of it.

The taste of expensive chocolates and laughter and the smell of a new bookshop. "Michael? Replace me with Michael! Absurd!"

Secrets whispered in a dark room with only wine and a fireplace to warm them.

A direct line. Requesting a form. Holding it in shaking hands.

His hands grip the porcelain sink so tightly it starts to crack. The porcelain crumbles in his grip and breaks the skin of his hands.

No demon comes running to his rescue. He swallows down the pain and waved the sink and his hands pristine again. He walks to the bedroom and slides into bed next to the curled up demon. Crowley hasn't left their bed in days. He'd watched the videos again and again and again until the screen showed faded, burned in images of the angel Aziraphale. He'd gone through every saved image and every saved message. A thousand snapshots of a life lived.

"At least get up to shower, darling." He strokes his fingers through greasy red hair. His Crowley never let himself look like this. He was as fastidious as he was mischevious. "Please..."

"Go away." His voice is rough from disuse. He had shed no tears. There had only been silence. "I don't want to see you." He rolls over and pulls the duvet closer.  
Ezra sighs and wraps him up in his arms anyway. "We'll just lay here then."

* * *

"You think this is what he wants for you? You watched those fucking videos! He loves you! Get up! Get the fuck up! Coward!" The bookshop reeks of sadness and it's filled his stomach to bursting and vomiting. The pain of it shatters the self-control he's worked so hard to learn and maintain.

Crowley scrabbles against the sheets in a vain attempt to get away from the hands around his neck. His eyes are wide and terrified. The demon above him has six wings littered in double pupil eyes. His head morphs from goat to man to goat to man to goat to man in a way no human mind could comprehend.

And then it stops just as quickly as it had started. Massive wings disappear and his body finds its proper human form again. Ezra releases his hands at the first sign of tears. Crowley sobs an ugly, heaving thing. His hands grip weakly the torn shirt of the demon still holding him down. "Ezra...Ezra..." He heaves a great, shaky breath. "Ezra..."

Another crack. He winces and sucks in a breath. Holding Crowley down. Angelic power burning tender, demon flesh.

He gathers Crowley into his arms and rocks them both. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I never... I never meant to hurt you. I love you. I love you."


	33. Chapter 33

"Why'd you go hurting yourself like that, hm?"

He averts his eyes as gentle kisses are pressed against his filthy, blood-soaked hand. "Told you it's not how to deal with them feelings of yours." Each kiss slowly heals the wound. It's painful, but will not scar. The planet builders are not meant for such delicate tasks.

"That... That bad angel... And there were so many others... It was loud..." He half whispers out excuses.

"Get undressed and get all comfy." He is nudged toward their spot hidden among the clouds of the firmament.

They lay together pressed close as if trying to become one being. "Don't you worry. He'll pay." His voice is rough yet soothing like the hands that smooth over his bared back. "For what he did to you. They all will and very soon."  
"Don't need you to protect me."  
"Nah... But I'm gonna anyway. Always will. You're stuck with me."

* * *

She flits by his ear on gossamer wings. She settles ever so lightly on his shoulder and so much long, black hair falls down her back and over his.

"Archangel Gabriel, do not be afraid." She speaks and it sounds like singing. "Such a shame you've chosen such a basic form." She tips back and falls from his shoulder. Her wings buzz as she dances around the confused Archangel. "I do like the eyes."

"I...I am the Archangel Gabriel. You will not act so...insolently!" He does try to sound imposing but she only laughs.   
"I like you, Archangel Gabriel." She lands on her toes in front of him. Her wide blue eyes are filled with mirth and far too much arrogance. "Come and have some fun, oh great Archangel Gabriel. All you do is stand around and give orders from up here. Do something for yourself." She holds out an impossibly delicate hand.

He takes it.

* * *

"You're staring again."

A firm hand grips his chin and turns his starfire gaze away from the training cherubim. Raphael smiles fondly and pinches his cheek. "Which one is it, hm? Who has caught your eye?"  
He tries to turn his head but the Archangel will not loosen his grip. "The one with the curls. He's always losing focus. S'like he doesn't want to be there."

Raphael pats his cheeks and sets him free. "That one will break your heart. Do not hesitate because of some beauty."

* * *

The letter drops into a basket on the table right next to the door that leads into the flat. It's perfectly white and addressed to Demon Crowley and Demonic Principality Ezra. It hums a celestial harmony until Ezra picks it up and opens it. The words are jumbled and the letters swirl and shimmer, but he knows what it is.

He leans against the doorjamb of the open bathroom door. "It came. We can go when you're ready."

Crowley glances at him from where he stands in front of the mirror scrubbing his hair dry. "I'll get dressed."


	34. Chapter 34

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One chapter to go

"I had a plan."

They stand flanked by cherubs who have long ago lost their names. One stands tall and wears her hair braided with red string. Another does not open his eyes and yet seems to see everything around him. The other carries a spear of golden light. Before then stand three Archangels. Only one remembers the cherubs.

"I had a plan to force my way to...To whatever thing it is you use to talk to Her. I was going to demand answers. I was going to ask all the questions that got me thrown out of this place all those years ago."

Michael tips her head curiously. "And now, demon?"  
Crowley takes Ezra's hand. "I don't know." He laughs humorlessly. "I have no plan and that's my plan."

* * *

"Could you love me?"

The question is barely a whisper. Soho never quite sleeps, but at this hour there is a hint of quiet.

"What's that supposed to mean?"  
"If I could remember... If I could pretend to be him...Could you love me?"

* * *

The cherubim are dismissed with a wave of Michael's hand. "Then you're wasting our time. Leave."

"Oh no. No no. You, Michael, have played your angels for far too long." He steps toward her. The Archangels at her side step toward him. "You've lied. You've lied to angels. You've lied to demons. You've committed murder." His mouth twists in some semblance of a smile. "I had a...Revelation about you. Specifically 12:7, but there was a typo. I like to pretend that I have it all figured out. I begged Her for a sign and that's what I got-- a bloody typo. Literally. I am no dragon. I have no angels."

"You're rambling, demon." Michael steps up to him. "You were always asking questions. Leave us." She turns to her siblings. Uriel hesitates but nods and dips away. Gabriel flicks his eyes between the three before he follows his sister. "I can't give you what you want, Crowley. You want Aziraphale back. I cannot give you that. His soul is corrupt. He stands next to you as a demon. You are wasting my time."

* * *

"It will destroy you! And then what will I have left? If you do this then you're no better than him!"

* * *

Crowley licks his lips or maybe he's tasting the air. "There were once four guardians of Eden. You've stripped them all of their memories. There were four Archangels. One is forgotten. Gone. He always told me...Not to hesitate. I never understood it. I asked my questions. I wasn't afraid. We didn't have a word for it, do you remember? Before Heaven became a shinier Hell? It's all the same, isn't it? Heaven...Hell... Earth."

"You are wasting my time," Michael repeats. "I have answered your question. There is no coming back for him. He made his choice. He was Judged and found guilty."

The demon Crowley removes a tiny, glass vial from his pocket. Inside sparks a flame. "Do you know what the difference between me and you is, Michael?" Her eyes grow wide. She raises a hand to summon a weapon. The vial shatters at her feet. The flame flickers. The flame grows. The flame dies. The area around them stinks of brimstone and bile.

He smiles and raises two fingers. "I've only ever lied to an angel twice. The first time they were trying to kill me. The second time I told him that I hadn't finished off the milk." Michael looks more and more perplexed. "God made a mistake in giving me an imagination. That was Hellfire...But I didn't want it to burn you. How many angels have you lied to?"

* * *

"I want to talk to Her. I want to know how she let you lie to millions of angels! I want to ask Her what really happens when we die. I want to know what happens when we Fall!" His hand slips from Ezra's and he's on her in two strides. "You could kill me. I could find out right now." His voice shakes. "But I'm afraid to die. I was happy for once and... And he chose to leave me. He chose to leave me because of your lies. He was your favorite, wasn't he?"  
"Demon. You don't know what you're talking about." Michael's sword manifests but she makes no move to attack.

"I remember. Look inside of me and tell me I'm lying. I remember Raphael. He told me the pretty one would break my heart and he was right. You let him keep himself. You were soft on him and you know that's why he's gone now." Crowley's voice shatters then. "Let me have my answers. Let me try."

Ezra is at his side again. Six, thousand-eyed wings manifest and partially wrap Crowley in their embrace. His Being is not beautiful. Its depths do not sparkle like stars. Light and dark overlap like bacteria caught mid-division.

Michael's sword falls and disappears before it can touch the firmament. "Neither of you will survive speaking directly to Her. No one has. The Metatron will not relay your message. You will die."

"I spoke to Her." Ezra whispers. "I lied to Her face... Metaphorically. It was sort of a bright light."

* * *

Michael leads them through the infinite, empty halls of Heaven. "You will die." She leads them to a door that looks like all the other doors.

Crowley looks to Ezra and the demon takes his hand with a smile.

* * *

There are no celestial harmonies. The Sound of Music soundtrack is not on repeat. There is darkness. Lights flicker in the distance. Maybe they're stars. Maybe they're something else.

Crowley finds himself alone. It's cold. It's lonely. There is no up or down. There is just space.

"̷O̴h̶,̴ ̷s̵w̸e̴e̸t̶ ̶C̷r̶o̷w̷l̸e̸y̸.̸ ̶M̷y̵ ̴m̵o̴s̷t̸ ̵r̶e̴b̸e̵l̵l̵i̸o̵u̴s̶ ̷s̵o̵n̴.̴"̷ The voice is not soothing. It brings him no joy to hear the voice of his mother after so many, many years.

"̷͎͠Ť̵͔h̶̪̋ë̵̢ ̷͇̓f̶̲͝i̵̯͑r̷̺͆s̴̝̕t̷͈̚ ̶͕͠t̷̾ͅo̸̗̚ ̴͉͆c̸͈̆h̸͉͋a̴͚̓n̶͔g̸͇͛e̴͙̐ ̸̳̎h̵̻͆i̴̳̐m̵̨͆s̸̩̋e̸͗͜l̷͚͒f̴͍̏.̵͙̒ ̵̺͆T̵̙̅ĥ̴͎e̸͎͒ ̵̼͂f̸͔̈i̶̪̿ṙ̷̫s̸̮̃ẗ̸͔́ ̸͖̊ţ̶̆o̴̘̐ ̵͎͊b̶̭̎e̴̜̾ ̵̱̚d̵̺̚i̷̩͊s̵͖͝p̵̟̉l̵̲͋e̷͚̿a̴̫̍ș̶e̴͈̋ḑ̴̿ ̸̧̈w̶̘̐i̶͎̔t̵̗̉h̸͠ͅ ̸̧̍ṱ̶͂ḥ̴̃e̶͕͛ ̸̬̑b̸̹͐ē̴͇ȧ̸̙ṷ̶͝ṭ̷͐y̵̬͝ ̵̰͌Ȋ̴ͅ ̷͎̑g̴̞̕r̸̖͝a̴̜͑n̴̏͜t̷̠̂e̸̛͙d̶̯͆ ̶͕́ḥ̴̾i̶͓̾m̴̊ͅ.̶̫͠ ̷̖́Ȳ̵̤o̸̺͝ū̴̖ ̷͇͆n̷͉͐e̷̠̍v̴̺̚ḛ̸͂r̸̛̜ ̴̫͝m̴̡̽e̷͇͝ä̶̪n̵͇͠t̸̤́ ̶̻͋ť̷̘ő̵̞ ̸̼͝F̸̬̚a̷̱͌l̵̟̾l̶̯̉,̴̟͛ ̸͇͛d̸̗͑ị̴̍d̶̰̈́ ̸͇ŷ̶̜ö̸̻́u̷̞̽?̶̥̐"̷̭̑

He can't tell where the voice is coming from. The lights swirl and shift and never grow closer.

"̴̬̏Ẏ̶̺o̷̬̓u̷̗͘ ̴̪̓n̸̤̿ë̸̥v̸̡̈́e̶͜͝r̴͇͛ ̷̗͑m̷̻̂ę̵͠ā̴͙ṅ̴͍t̶͈̽ ̸̯̓t̴͖̽ŏ̶͈ ̵̙́ḫ̵̐u̶̪͊r̶̜̋t̵̤̐ ̵̻͆a̶͕͘ń̷͖ỷ̴͙o̸͖͑n̸̗̍e̸͍͆,̵̢̑ ̴͕̏d̵̥̍i̵͇͘d̵͍̈́ ̵͕̃ẙ̸ͅo̸͈ǘ̸̯?̵͈̓ ̶̜͋B̴̡̈́ǔ̶̟ṯ̸̓ ̴̻͐y̸͉͝o̶̖̓u̶̖̅ ̴̲̑d̶̹̍i̸̐͜d̷̞̍.̴̱́ ̴̺̓Y̷̗͛o̵͛͜ǔ̴͚ ̵̹̒h̵̲̽u̸̼͊r̵̦̓t̴̰̔ ̴̨̑t̵̝͌h̶̤̅è̵̩ ̸̻̇o̵͔͊n̴̪̚ļ̶͛ȳ̵̨ ̴̢͆ò̷͉n̴̺̏ȅ̶̞ ̶͙́w̴̳͗h̵̡̛o̶̧̽ ̷̦̽e̴͚͑v̸̠͂é̷͙r̴̥̅ ̴͎͠l̶̻̈́o̵̥͌v̷̙͛e̷̬͛d̵̯̉ ̴̮͝y̵̝͗o̸̜u̷̦͠ ̷͊ͅṷ̷̈ň̷̻c̵̘͌ò̴̦n̶̛̞d̸̮̓i̶̻t̴̺̆ḯ̸̠o̸̦̚n̵͈͗a̸̬͛l̸̆ͅl̷̻͘y̵̺͝.̵̼͑"̶̖̆

And then he finds himself on solid ground. "I miss the stars." He presses his hands into his pockets. He wants to be on solid ground and so he is. "These aren't stars. Is this the Before?"

The voice is silent, but he can feel laughter. "N̶o̸,̵ ̷m̴y̴ ̴s̴w̸e̸e̷t̴ ̷b̵o̷y̶.̷ ̴T̶h̴i̴s̶ ̴i̴s̴ ̶w̶h̴e̶r̷e̴ ̸I̴ ̸l̴i̸v̴e̸.̵ ̸T̶h̸o̶s̶e̸ ̶a̷r̵e̸ ̸t̷h̵e̴ ̶o̸n̶e̶s̸ ̸w̷a̵i̶t̷i̵n̷g̶ ̸t̴o̴ ̵r̷e̴t̸u̴r̷n̸.̷ ̶Y̶o̵u̷ ̵k̷n̶o̴w̵ ̸a̵ ̸f̶e̴w̷ ̴o̶f̷ ̵t̵h̷e̴m̵.̸"  
"Memories?"  
"F̷o̴r̵g̶o̶t̸t̸e̴n̶ ̶m̴e̶m̵o̸r̵i̵e̴s̶.̴ ̴B̵e̶a̶u̶t̵i̸f̸u̶l̶ ̶o̸n̶e̴s̷.̸ ̴A̴w̵f̴u̸l̶ ̷o̶n̸e̷s̸.̷ ̸M̸e̵m̶o̵r̸i̶e̴s̵ ̷o̷f̸ ̴a̶l̷l̵ ̷m̷y̴ ̶c̴r̶e̵a̶t̴i̴o̶n̷s̵.̵"

Time is nothing here. Decades pass. Maybe seconds. Maybe they've gone back.

"Why did he Fall?"  
"B̶e̵c̵a̷u̴s̵e̵ ̶h̶e̸ ̶d̴e̸s̸i̶r̶e̵d̸ ̵i̵t̴.̴ ̷H̶e̵ ̷w̶a̸n̴t̵e̴d̶ ̴t̶o̷ ̴b̶e̶ ̶w̵i̶t̷h̴ ̷y̴o̸u̷.̶.̵.̴ ̷B̵u̴t̸ ̴h̴e̶ ̶b̶e̸l̷i̸e̶v̸e̷d̵ ̷h̷e̷ ̷o̷w̵n̷e̴d̵ ̸y̷o̴u̴.̶ ̴T̷h̸a̴t̵'̷s̶ ̶s̵e̷l̵f̸i̴s̷h̸,̴ ̸d̵o̷n̵'̸t̶ ̸y̶o̷u̵ ̴a̸g̷r̷e̴e̴?̵"  
"Did he love me?"

"̴̮̕O̷̠h̷̲͋,̶͖̕ ̷͊͜m̵̪͂ö̵̳́r̴͇̾è̸̹ ̵̤̾t̷̞̾h̶̞͗ä̸̟n̵̗̈ ̷̠̍h̸͙̉e̴̲̒ ̴͙͠e̴͍͐v̷̠͂è̷̦r̸̮͝ ̷̡̉l̶͔͝ỏ̵̮v̴̻e̸̤͒d̸̝̒ ̴̹́m̸͖͌ȅ̷͎.̴̳̎"̸̝̆

He finds himself floating again.

"I̷ ̵c̸̛͕̦̆̋ͅö̵͔̖̂̊̿ų̶͙͈͉͍͆̈̽̑͝l̵͓̼͎͝ḍ̸͕̏͗͒ g̵i̸v̷e̶ ̴y̷o̵u̷ ̵a̸ ̴c̸h̵o̷i̵c̴e̸,̷ ̴C̵r̸o̷w̵l̴e̶y̸.̴ ̸Y̷o̵u̸ ̶a̸r̵e̸ ̶n̵o̶t̸ ̴l̷i̶k̶e̵ ̴y̴o̵u̵r̷ ̸b̸r̸o̶t̵h̶e̸r̸s̷ ̶a̸n̵d̷ ̸s̷i̷s̷t̶e̴r̶s̵.̷ ̴T̵h̵e̶y̵ ̷a̴l̷l̷ ̴h̶a̶v̵e̸ ̴i̵m̴a̷g̵i̸n̴a̶t̶i̵o̷n̴,̵ ̴b̷u̷t̸ ̷y̵o̸u̴ ̵l̶e̶a̶r̸n̸e̴d̵ ̷h̴o̶w̷ ̴t̶o̷ ̶u̵s̶e̶ ̶i̵t̴.̴ ̵Y̴o̴u̷ ̶s̵t̴o̶p̸p̴e̸d̴ ̴m̸y̷ ̶m̴o̸s̷t̷ ̷b̸e̶l̶o̵v̸e̵d̸ ̴c̴h̷i̸l̷d̷.̴.̷.̷ ̵W̸i̴t̴h̵ ̸l̸o̶v̵e̶.̸ ̴I̸t̸'̸s̸ ̴l̸i̵k̷e̸ ̵o̵n̷e̸ ̶o̷f̶ ̶t̵h̴o̸s̵e̶ ̷l̵o̵v̶e̸l̴y̸ ̵r̵o̴m̶a̴n̷c̸e̶ ̵f̸i̵l̷m̵s̶.̸" A sigh breathes past him.

"God. Give him back to me. I didn't come here for a lesson. I came here for answers. What is my choice?"

"S̸̡̺̟̭̪̞͑̅̓͋͐̈͗̈͊̍̀̿̓̈́͊͊̈́̈̏̄̈́͝͠͝ẃ̶̨̙͚̤̲̰̤͐̿͛̿͐̍̓̄͐̇̈́̋̊̓̒́̂̿̈͐͐͠͠͠ȇ̸͖̦̱̓͛̐̆̌̉̀̎͆͂̏̐̏͊̂̑͌̕e̵̩̣̲̱̝̺̿͂̈́̿ẗ̵̛̻̮̺̦̙̤̩͔̫̜͇̭̦̩̮́̑̓̈́̈́̽͌́͊̂̔̀̃̉̚̚͜ ̶̛̘͕̥̩͐̿̓̎̏̐̌̅͋̅̏̎͜͝t̶̛̲̬̰͂̆̾̎̇̀̈̈́̂̚h̴̨̢̛̛͙̯̝̘͎̠̬͈͉͚̜̼͉̯͙̝̥͜ͅĭ̴͕̟̬̗̟͋̈́̑̉̉̄̓̿̈́̓̃̓̃͛̈̕̕̚͝͠͠n̵̛̩͉̊̍̅͛͌͐̎͗̊̽̈̎̀̽͐̍̑͘ģ̴̨̼̞͓̮̭̞̫̜̳͈̗̣͍͛̓͛͒̽̈́̿͂͆̐̏̍̒̑̓̇̏̽͛͂̍͊͗̂̌̓͜͝ͅ,̶̛̲̮̤̟̩̪̣͚̻̪͇͖̠̩̠̙̭̜̹̼̼̃͗͜ ̶̘̻͙̳̗̜̦̖̬̫̠͈̱̩͚͔̐̽̐̎̔̄̆̅͂̐̓͘͝͝͠y̶̭̺͖̯̖̭͚͙͐͛̈́̀͛͋͑͒̕o̷̧͎̙͍̞͍̠̣͓̣̟̖͈̎̅̎͊̕͜͝ͅu̶̧̧͙͍̤̘͖͚̬̣̘͍͍̼͚̺̯̥̪͎̞̞̘̮̠̩̼͉͆͑͊̐͗̎̈͂̈́̇̌̆ͅ ̵̪̹̻͍̤̺̦͓̫͕̒̈̌̋͊̿̆̈́̅̄͘͜ä̵̡̙̥̖̜̤͚̝̖̹͇̣͈̝́̔͗̂͗͊̓̏̿́̓͋̏͌̃̕̕l̸̙̟̗͋̽̐̎͋̈́̎̇͂̄͗̃̆͘r̶̘̓ͅe̶̠̒̿̀͐́̉͆̊͐̈́̓̌̎̔̆̾́̓̔̽̚̕̕̚â̵̧̢̡̨̧͎̩̖͔͈̜̟̱̜̪̦͔̗̻̹͙̩̄̇͒̉̄̏͒͗͘̚̕͘͜d̸̖̰͎̳͍̲̜͚͇̭̘͓̜͕͇̭̫̺͌̽̕ȳ̸̨̲̟͈̩͔̣͚̮͖͈̃̈́͑̓͌͊͑͆̊̀͂͆̑̃̈́̒̆͑̃̅͘͜͠͝͝ ̴̠͉͔̙͕̞͓̲̪̗͈͔̖̱͈̺̱̥̙̬͇̰͗̌̅͌̐̾̓̋̒̓̅̉̑̄̒͝͝͝ͅķ̶̩͙͎͍͓̥̟̝̩̖̼̺̠͔̻̭̒̀̏͌̈̈̋̀͛͊̕͜ṉ̶̢̨̦͕͈̗͖̺̱̪̱̭̜̘̤̫̫͔̟̳̤̩̰̄̽ͅo̷̧̥̹̪̱͇̩̲̙̫͉͕͎͇̠̙̜̥͍͂̄͊͛̓͌̓̔͊̍̎̾̏̊̓͠w̸̧̫̝̫͙̰̰͙͖̲̳̍̒̓͐̆̆̑̑͋͘͘͘͘ͅ.̷̗͉͓̯̜͔̲̦͖̳͖̳̮͓͉̓̌̉̂͐̄̂͐̎̓̈́̃̎̇̊̇̈͘̕͝͝͠"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God's Dialogue:  
> "Oh, sweet Crowley. My most rebellious son."  
> "The first to change himself. The first to be displeased with the beauty granted him. You never meant to Fall, did you?"  
> "You never meant to hurt anyone, did you? But you did. You hurt the only one who ever loved you unconditionally."  
> "No, my sweet boy. This is where I live. Those the ones waiting to return. You know a few of them."  
> "Forgotten memories. Beautiful ones. Awful ones. Memories of all my creations."  
> "Because he desired it. He wanted to be with you... But he believed he owned you. That's selfish, don't you agree?"  
> "Oh, more than he ever loved me."  
> "I could give you a choice, Crowley. You are not like your brothers and sisters. They all have imagination, but you learned how to use it. You stopped my most beloved child... With love. It's like one of those lovely romance films."  
> "Sweet thing, you already know."


	35. Chapter 35

They survived their trial, or what passed for trial. They sat together, knees touching, in St. James Park. They walked, shoulders brushing, in the light rain that somehow did not fall upon them. He had flashed him that bastard smile when he'd questioned it.

He stands in front of the bookshop door unmoving. He can't bring himself to turn and take the handle. The light of the moon glimmers over the puddles like stars.  
"I killed a man."  
"You didn't pull the trigger."  
"But he's dead. Life had just begun...I feel like I threw it all away."  
"Bismallah."

A jacket ended up next to his on the coatrack. Black snakeskin boots sit next to balmorals. A waistcoat is carefully folded and a bowtie is carefully placed next to a grey scarf and snakehead belt. He untucks his shirt and rolls up his sleeves.  
They settle together, not for the first time, on the worn sofa with their knees touching and their shoulders pressed together. He drapes an arm over his shoulders and pulls him in just a little closer.

They sit together in the absolute silence of the bookshop for so long. Then, as if on a whim someone snaps his fingers. The old gramophone springs to life. A woman's voice croons some song the machine should not have been able to play. He ever so slowly extracts himself from his partner’s side. He was not afraid and it showed clearly on his face. "Dance with me?" They press together, hands in not quite the right places, and rock. He whispers the words in his ears with a voice thick with six thousand years of emotion. "Thank you...For standing by me."

They dance cheek to cheek and revel in the warmth. When the song ends they go upstairs and sleep curled together. It was not the first time. It would not be the last time.  


The bed was soft and the sheets were softer. Crowley never did like the tartan pattern, but he enjoyed the feel of the cotton. The duvet is plain. The bed smells of expensive colognes and ozone mixed with a hint of sulfur. The bedroom is bathed in the blue-gold light of the early morning sun. Soho isn't awake yet.

  
"You are a gorgeous sight to wake up to." He gently strokes the snake that adorns the side of Crowley's face.  
The demon's draconian eyes barely open. He's spread over a warm, bare chest. His long fingers do not fidget where they rest on soft skin. He doesn't sway or squirm. He just lays with a sleepy half-smile and blotchy pink blush gracing his face. "Is this real life?"  
"Not a fantasy, my darling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the Canon™ end. I have my own idea about how things really ended, but I value your thoughts more. No ending is incorrect!
> 
> Please bless me with your thoughts in the comments! 
> 
> Also, 9000% bless the person who sent me a kofi. Literally paid my grocery bill. I’m a poor af teacher and appreciate it. I haven't gotten paid since May :) 
> 
> Side note: The title obviously comes from Bohemian Rhapsody... From Aziraphale's point of view.
> 
> And plz visit my tumblr and send me prompts now. I had a lot of fun doing this. I haven’t had fun writing in a long time. Having people comment and respond really made writing fun again.


	36. Bonus Chapter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter isn't "canon." The ending of this fic is 100% up to you, but this is what I imagine the end is.

"So sweet! Are you married?"  
"Oh no. D'you know the bloody paper costs almost 200 quid?" Crowley grins wide and shit-eating up at the waiter as he laughs and smiles behind the menus he holds. "I've been waiting on a sale, but it's been years now."

Under the table, he squeezes Crowley's hand hard enough to make the demon's boyish smile twitch.

"What an awful joke! Such a shame." The waiter throws him a wink.  
"Flirting with my boyfriend right in front of me?" He can taste lust on his tongue. The flavor is sour.  
The waiter sputters and frets. That's better. "Do your job. Bring our drinks." The boy, barely a man, nods quickly and stumbles over his own feet in his rush to get away from the sudden rush of something deep, and dark that spreads approximately one meter around their table.

"You're so sexy when you get all possessive, lamb." Crowley tips his chin up to kiss him gentle and sweet. "I only have eyes for you."  
Ezra scrunches his nose at him. "You're the one always flirting. You do it just to get on my nerves." He crosses his arms fussily and turns his head away from another attempted kiss.

"Don't be cross, lamb." He pulls Ezra's chair closer and tries for another kiss. "Lamb....Ezra! Ezzy-Wezzy! Zeezee! Lamz--" His laughter is muffled by the perfectly manicured hand pressed fully against his mouth.  
"Ezzy-Wezzy? Really?" He bites his lip to keep from laughing. Crowley wiggles his eyebrows suggestively and suddenly they're both laughing too happy and too loud at their favorite table outside their favorite cafe.

  
The coffee is always good and watching Crowley nibble a plate of jammy biscuits is always a treat. Even with his infernal sunglasses on Ezra can still see the little flutter of pleasure that flits across his eyes. The smell of his absolute calm and content is sweet and floral.

Ezra leans his cheek on his hand. He smiles fondly as the demon bites into another biscuit. "You know you can't kiss me until you've washed out your mouth." He uses his free hand to stir his coffee. "Such a shame. You look so cute with crumbs on your lips." He takes great pleasure at the blotchy blush that spreads over Crowley's nose and cheeks.  
"Who says I want to kiss you anyway?" He jerks his leg away from the black boot that tries to kick him under the table. "You're a bastard."  
"A bastard worth knowing, hm?"

Crowley is careful to wipe his lips and he uses his coffee to clear his mouth even after a minor miracle cleans his teeth. "You'll kiss me now, won't you? That boy is looking. I know you've been watching him this whole time. Humans aren't that clumsy."  
"... Maybe they forget how to hold trays. Humans forget things all the time." He replies petulantly.  


  
  
They walk home hand in hand as has become their norm. The cafe isn't so far from their flat and the weather is just right for an evening walk. The coffee had been lovely and he feels contently full of human annoyance and a hint of fear. His dessert stomach, as Crowley called it, was a little overfilled with the overwhelming sweetness of gluttony. Crowley had left a sizeable tip to replace the dozen shattered mugs and teacups that the waiter had "accidentally" dropped.

"We should go to Barcelona." Ezra leans into Crowley's thin body. "We could spend a few weeks there."  
"We were in Barcelona a few months ago, lamb."  
"Oh... I remember. You loved the escalivada! I told you that you would, but you whined until you tried it."

Things were different. Things would always be different.

Aziraphale lived in Ezra's Being just as the angel Crowley had once been lived in his Being. Ezra's Being merged and separated like a supernova. It was never the same at any moment. Crowley's being still sparkled with whatever heavenly power was still left inside of him.

When Crowley believed something should happen it did and so Ezra had been the one to meet him outside of the plain, white door to Her realm. He had smiled shy and nervous and offered his hand.

Life was meant to change. Crowley had always gone too fast and changed too much. Aziraphale had always gone too slow and had been stuck in his ways for so long. They loved and loved but they could never intersect. Ezra held his hand and kept his pace. He was a fussy, jealous bastard with a kind streak as wide as his smile.

"It was...slimy looking."  
"Peppers are not oysters, dear." Ezra rolled his multi-pupil eyes. "Then where should we go? I don't want to go far. I'm not in the mood for a long plane ride."

Crowley stops them at the entrance to the flat they'd bought just far enough away from the old flat and the bookshop. "Wherever you want to go, lamb." He steals a kiss before tugging him inside and into the lift.

Their home is immaculately clean but filled with the soft signs of being lived in. Trinkets from their travels are carefully organized. One of the white walls is artfully decorated with framed photos of their life together. There's a soft couch that's perfect for stretching out and an ugly tartan blanket that clashes with the white and black decor. On the record filled bookshelf they keep the portrait of Crowley and Aziraphale posed outside of the bookshop all that time ago. It watches them and radiates loving, nostalgic energy.

  
They settle onto the soft couch. Crowley pillows his head on Ezra's chest and lets out the most contented of sighs. "Lamb?"  
"Hm?" He strokes through slightly shaggier red hair. His demon needs a trim...

"Well... Did you want to get married?"  
"Nnk...Nng...Hnng?" Ezra does his best impression of Crowley with his brain shorts out. He feels his heart beat faster and he feels blood rush red from the tips of his ears to the peek of his chest from the top of his shirt.

Crowley sits up as Ezra does. He sits in his lap like he's meant to be there (and he is). Crowley removes the golden, angel wing wedding ring he's always worn. He's never removed it. It used to be a reminder of who and what he was meant to be.  
  
Miraculously the ring fits perfectly onto Ezra's scarred finger. The gold morphs slowly into brushed silver. He strokes his stunned face, just behind the ear, and produces an identical ring with a teasing scrunch of his nose. "Well? Won't you marry me?" He offers it to him with the true confidence that Crowley has only recently learned to have in himself. His face feels hot and his hand shakes something awful.  
Ezra swallows audibly. He bites his lip and nods. The second ring slides onto Crowley's finger.  
  
A gentle, sweet kiss consummates their marriage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So something to clarify: Raphael isn't important as an actual character. He's there to show that Michael is a liar. She never tells anyone the same thing about him. Did he Fall? Die? Kill himself? She lied about him killing the cherubs. What else is she lying about?

**Author's Note:**

> This fic uses [Glitch Text/G̶͚̔͊l̶̲͊i̴̠͚̕t̶̥̕c̴͙̆̈́ͅh̸͔̯͒̈́ ̷̨̛T̷͎͉̓e̶͇̪͝x̴̧͔͊̒t̸̬̆͛.](https://lingojam.com/GlitchTextGenerator) I use Google Chrome and try to ensure it doesn't clash with text it isn't supposed to. If for some reason your browser is showing it as completely illegible please let me know and I will see what I can do. You can use the linked website to unscramble the text if you need to.  
> I don't have a beta. Feel free to politely inform me of mistakes you find.  
> I also enjoy every single comment no matter how small. I try to reply to them all. You can find me on [Tumblr](https://unbreakable-groundriot.tumblr.com/) You can maybe also find my kofi link there...


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